


Can't You See Me Here On Overload

by aimmyarrowshigh, spibsy (lucy_and_ramona)



Series: Never Never Never Stop for Anyone (Sheylinsonverse) [3]
Category: One Direction (Band), Union J (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Comeplay, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Exhibitionism, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Panic Attacks, Polyamory, Public Sex, Size Kink, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, sub!Drop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:02:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 62,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh/pseuds/aimmyarrowshigh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucy_and_ramona/pseuds/spibsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is basically 63,000 words of D/s initiation, kink negotiations, sex, and Feeeelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't You See Me Here On Overload

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : Explicit sexual content (slash [fingering, oral sex, penetrative sex, comeplay, threesome, size!kink, overstretching/DP, unprotected sex]) and graphic sexual dialogue. Heavy D/s elements (restraints, voice command, orgasm control/denial; no impact play, no breathplay). _Sub!drop_. Panic attack/panic state. Semi-public sex. Voyeurism/exhibitionism. Moderately terrible Britpicking, but we did try this time for the dialogue.  
>  **Disclaimer** : We don't own anything. No claim of knowledge or veracity is made towards anyone in the story and no aspersions or claims of character are to be inferred. We have no connection nor permissions from One Direction, X-Factor, Simon Cowell, SyCo Inc., Sony, ITV, or Columbia Records. No libel intended.

** Can't You See Me Here On Overload **

George is having a massively good day. He hadn't woken up in the best mood, but that had all changed when he received basically the best news ever, and he knows he looks like a madman as he blows through the hallways of the hotel with his nose nearly pressed to the screen of his iPhone.

_got test results back!! all clean :) xx_

There's a gap of ten minutes before Harry texts back. Even his words look sleepy.

_yaayy.._

George grins to himself and pushes his wet fringe out of his eyes. He'd been in such a rush to get to the clinic and back before the throngs of fans appeared outside the hotel for the day that he'd run out with yesterday's trousers, a hoodie without a shirt, and wet hair.

He's frightfully chilly and worried that he might catch cold and screw up his voice and then they'll get voted off and it'll be all his fault, but he can't be too worried about that when he's tested and clean and he can have sex with Harry and Louis, and without the condom in his pocket. He doesn't even need to buy condoms anymore. This is fantastic.

He knocks insistently on Ella's door until it opens and she peers out at him, a grump on her face. "What do you want, boy?"

"I don't have to buy condoms," George informs her, a grin on his face.

"Me, neither," Ella yawns, and shuts the door in his face.

George wrinkles his nose at the door and knocks again in a pattern, bouncing on his toes. "Come on! Who else am I supposed to talk to about this?"

Ella opens the door again and sags against the frame. "Can I sleep on you while you talk?"

"Yes," George says. This is obvious. "I'm very cuddly."

Ella waves him in through the door and doesn't even wait before she slumps back to her bed and collapses, face-down. George laughs and shuts the door, toeing out of his shoes before following her. He settles himself on the pillows and massages her scalp to make her purr and wake up a little; she drags herself up to snuggle onto him with her head rested on his chest.

"So," begins George. "You know how I told you they wanted me to get tested? Make sure I'm not disease-y or anything?"

Ella makes a noise that's probably affirmative, her face smashed against his collarbone.

"Well, I did -- discreetly, of course -- and I'm clean! So now I don't have to buy condoms anymore!" he exclaims. "Aren't you excited for me?"

"Woo-hoo." Ella limply cheers with one fist. Her eyes don't even open.

George narrows his eyes. "You aren't excited at all." He tickles her ribs and she whines.

"Too tired to be excited that a boy I'm not sleeping with is safe for sleeping with," Ella mumbles.

"The people I _am_ sleeping with are very fit," George entices hopefully. "You usually like thinking about that. Now I can be just theirs."

Ella makes a sleepy noise and digs her face into his chest. George keeps stroking her hair, frowning, before he hedges,

"That is... alright with you, isn't it?"

"Not really got to do with me, has it?" Ella's voice is still slurred with sleep as she shifts against him, trying to make herself comfortable. "You're all bones," she grumbles. "Make yourself fluffier."

George rearranges himself a little so she can get better leverage to use his chest as a pillow. "Better?"

"Mm."

George smooths a long strand of Ella's hair through his fingers thoughtfully. "I'm not, like, haven't led you on or anything, have I? I don't think I have. You like Dan still, don't you?"

Ella's head nods against his chest, her mouth opening wide on a yawn. "Early. Thoughts not." She seems to muse over that for a moment before nodding again, apparently deciding that this is as good a conclusion to a sentence as any.

She wraps an arm around his waist and her hand tucks into his pocket because it's warm there. She makes a confused noise, and withdraws the condom.

"Ugh," she grunts, and throws it over the side of the bed.

George laughs and kisses the top of her head. "Go to sleep, Ella Bear."

"George Monkey," she agrees, and falls asleep.

Of course, now George isn't really in any condition to move. He's comfortable, and more importantly than that, Ella is comfortable, so he slides down the bed a bit more and rests his head on top of hers. She always feels very small, and delicate when she's this close. It's so strange when he thinks about how very much presence she has when she's onstage.

His phone buzzes on the bedside table, but to answer it would mean moving and moving would mean waking Ella up again. George knows it's probably Harry on the phone, and maybe Louis, too, the two of them cuddled up the same as himself and Ella are now, but he also knows that Ella is worrying herself ragged about having to dance on the show tomorrow and everyone in their coterie is fighting illness as it is. Harry and Louis can wait for him to answer. 

Yes, Harry and Louis have a George, but George also has an Ella to take care of. He promised Melanie before she left, after all.

George rubs Ella's shoulder soothingly, wondering what Harry and Louis have to say. Will they be as excited as he is? Probably not; while he only has them, they have each other. It's still a rush to think about, though. Even if it's only in his head, he knows that it's a big thing, only having sex with them. It's a bit exclusive, he thinks, and another warm bubbly sensation rockets in his belly.

He'd sort of known what the test results would be already. He's not _all_ that promiscuous and generally he's quite safe about the sex he does have, but this is solid proof and confirmation. The next time he's with Harry and Louis, one or both of them can come inside him. He imagines it: one right after the other, taking as much as he can; what it'll feel like. He's never had someone fuck him without a condom. He doesn't know whether he's supposed to be anxious or excited, but he's definitely the latter.

He hasn't heard much from them this week, but he guesses that's to be expected when they're all so busy. Louis has his football game. There was the debacle with the failed meet-and-greet last night, and of course One Direction are always off doing whatever it is real popstars do -- meetings and promotion and all that. George had been upset to miss the meet-and-greet, though, because one of the times he did hear from Louis this week had been a discreet delivery to the Corinthia in a brown paper box: a plum shirt patterned with tiny white birds, with cap sleeves, a mandarin collar... and a note.

_wear this ! we ‘ll be looking out……_

So he had, and he'd wanted to wear it where the most people would see and take photos and post them to Twitter, but then it all got canceled.

And of course he's also disappointed with how bad it made them look as a band, but he's trying his best not to think about that or he'll just get upset again. He loves all the people voting for them and wants to show his appreciation for them as much as possible, but it's hard when things don't go according to plan.

It's harder still to accept that when it wasn't their fault, and when George has a feeling that to some people that won't matter. He's been waiting for the shoe to drop, if he's honest. He's been waiting for the shoe to drop since he got the lifeline of coming back into the competition -- really, before that; he's been waiting for people to turn on him since he did his first audition.

Past experience has taught George that people are only kind for so long. Usually, only until they don't have a vested stake in him anymore. And then, all bets are off, and he's the new kid in school again, all on his own.

He feels less like the new kid with Jaymi and JJ this week, though. But as far as the competition goes, he knows that he's no Ella. He isn't Jahmene or James Arthur, either. And he's just waiting for people to decide that having the same hair as Harry Styles isn't good enough anymore and vote him out.

Ella rustles in her sleep and wriggles closer to him, tucking her face against his neck.

George smiles. Ella's a bit different, though, from the sort of friend he'd usually have. He's never had very many friends, ever since he was young, even, because they'd be scared away by the bullies or they'd _be_ bullies, or nobody wanted to be his friend because he was ‘the fat kid.’

Not Ella, though. Ella's still here and he can't see her leaving. With the other boys in the band, he knows that they mostly like him out of necessity. Ella'd be better off if she hated him. He's competition. She likes him, though, and he feels like it's genuine because everything about Ella is genuine.

He hopes that she isn't upset about -- whatever things are, George and Harry and Louis. She'd been so excited about it before. Probably she's just tired, he reasons, and worried for the show. They might all joke about Nicole's American sass, but the woman is a hell of a dancer, and all of the judges are at the point of tearing each other's acts apart for the slightest mistake, just to get another needle in their enemies' sides. 

Ella, like the rest of them, just doesn't want to give them a reason.

George tries to imagine Ella singing even a note out of tune and can't do it. He doesn't think she has anything to worry about, but he knows that when it's you that you're thinking about, it's a lot harder to be logical. Sure, maybe Ella's the best singer in the whole competition, and maybe the whole world loves her, but in her head, she's still a sixteen year old girl, and George can't imagine her being anything but nervous when she's up on that big stage all by herself.

That's one thing he's been grateful for, that he likes about being in a band. There are other people singing with him, people who can smooth out the rough edges of his mistakes and other presences that he can lean on if he needs to. On that big, gigantic stage all alone, he doesn't think he could even move, let alone sing.

He might have secretly spent a night burrowed under the covers in a blanket fort with Ella, watching through a massive playlist of One Direction videos on YouTube. He knows Louis feels the same as he does, about being in a group.  
It's as hard for him to imagine Louis being self-conscious as it is to imagine Ella singing out of tune. Seems like the whole universe would have to tip wrong for that to happen.

He supposes he might not know Louis as well as he likes to think. He knows Louis's body, his skin and his muscles and his cock, but how much does he actually know that he hasn't absorbed from various skimmed interviews and overheard conversations?

Does he really know anything?

George sighs. He wasn't meant to be thinking about anything this serious. He just meant to be excited about sex.

He tries poking Ella in the side. "Ella Bear. Wake up."

Ella grouses like a kitten and bats at his chest. "Mrrfg."

"Ella. Ella. Ella? Ella! Ella... Ella," George whispers, poking her over and over.

The noise Ella makes next is indecipherable, and George amuses himself for a moment trying to decide what animal it sounds most like.

"Really, come on, Ella. Ella. Get up, Ella. _Ella_."

"Go away, you miserable sex-beast," Ella grunts, and smushes her hand against his face. "'M sleeping."

"But we could get breakfast!" George says, through his giggles. _Sex-beast_ , honestly. "We could see if they have pain au chocolat today. Or coffee! Ella, I bet there's coffee..."

"There's always coffee," Ella grumbles. "Coffee-beast."

"I thought I was a sex-beast. I like that better, I think, bit more rugged." George bites at her palm. "Get up! There's a whole day ahead of us to seize!"

Ella sits up and pouts at him. It's adorable, and George can't help sitting up to smooth her hair out of her face and kiss her forehead.

"Beast," Ella concludes simply. "The most loathsome creature I've ever encountered."

"Well, I never," George says, feigning indignity. "And you've even seen Rylan without makeup."

The corners of Ella's mouth twitch, but she regains her composure well enough to shoot him a remarkably terrifying glare. "You think you're funny but you're not and you have stupid hair and I think Jaymi is cuter than you."

George staggers back, flopping against the pillows with his hands pressed to his heart.

"Ow," he moans. "I've been wounded."

"Good," grumbles Ella. "Maybe I'll actually be able to sleep in once in a while now."

"I'm bleeding out all over your pillows," George corrects. "Your bed is soaked in my wounded blood."

"Other people's beds have been soaked in your worse," Ella retorts.

George huffs. "The sex I have is unnaturally clean, I'll have you know. Except not anymore because I don't have to use condoms. I can have the messiest sex in the world."

Ella pulls a face and makes a disgusted noise. "Are they into like, weird things, then? Are _you_ into like, weird things?"

"I don't know." George frowns a little. "I don't think, not really. Just normal weird things."

"'Normal weird things,'" Ella repeats. "That makes a lot of sense. You've really cleared that up for me." She sighs. "I'm never going to get to know about normal-weird sex things, am I? I'm just little Ella who is a tiny Adele and doesn't get to dance onstage and is everyone's baby. I just know they're going to tear me up for trying to dance tomorrow night."

"I don't know if anyone could tear you up for anything," says George honestly. "I'm being serious!" he protests when she seems about to hit him. "You've just got one of those faces, the ones people can't be mean to."

Ella smiles ruefully down at the bedspread. "Sweet little incorruptible face, I know."

"Hey." George touches her knee. "Are you alright today? Did something happen with Dan?"

Ella shakes her head. "No. And that's it, really. Nothing will ever happen with Dan. I saw the girls he brought back from Mahiki, I'm -- not his type, silly to try."

"Oh, no," says George with dismay. It seems a bit of an under-reaction but he's not sure how else to express it. "No, love, it's not silly to try. You're a catch and anyone'd be lucky to have you."

Ella looks at him from beneath her eyelashes and George is a bit horrified that her eyes are wet and glossy. If she starts properly crying, then he'll start crying, and he really doesn't want to cry today.

"It's a bit hard when all of the papers are making out like I'm this beauty queen with all you boys all over me and I've really got no one."

George -- burbles a little. He wants to make a reassuring noise but it gets stuck in his throat so he just _burbles_ , and then wraps Ella in a tight hug. "You know all the boys adore you," he says. "I'm a boy and I adore you. And everyone else loves you. I'm sure if you just _talk_ to Dan, he'll be up for it."

"I don't want him to just be 'up for it.'" Ella pushes her face into his neck. "And you're... different, it's not like that with us 'cause you like, you know, boys and that. I want -- like, if I could smush you two together it'd be what I want. I want the emotions and the sexy part; I don't think I could be like, you are with Harry and Louis, just there sometimes for the sex bits and then leave and don't know what'll happen next. That's what Dan's 'up for' and I'm... not." She looks up and her eyes are wide. "Not that I think you're wrong, with Harry and Louis. I mean, you seem happy so it's right for you, but I'm just, it's not me."

"I never really thought about it like that." And now's not the time to be thinking about it, still, considering how upset Ella is. George doesn't need a new crisis right now. "And anyway, you don't need a guy who'll only be there for the sex bits. You need someone who'll be there for all the bits. But like, just your bits and nobody else's."

Ella hiccups a wet laugh, and George is relieved that she's finally smiling. "If you meet anyone, pass on a good word? I like One Direction members. Just putting that out there."

"I like One Direction members, too, but you can't have mine even though they're the best ones," George teases. "I think Zayn's got a girlfriend. Niall? Do you like them Irish and blond?"

"Isn't he with Demi Lovato?" Ella asks. "I don't fancy the leftovers of the Jonas Brothers' leftovers. So that's Taylor Swift right out, too."

"Forgot she was even in One Direction," says George. "Erm, maybe you could try chatting up Tulisa. You never know until you try."

"Very funny," Ella pushes him over. She straddles his hip and gathers up his wrists in her little hands so he can't wrestle her back, but George doesn't mind. For some reason, this always cheers Ella up and he won't begrudge her that. The back of his mind snickers that maybe Ella should just offer to throw Dan around a little, maybe tie him to the bedposts, and they'd both be happy with the arrangement -- but he isn't going to suggest that. Ella can discover normal-weird sex things on her own.

"I think I'm hilarious," he agrees after a moment, grinning up at her. He just hopes he's enough to lighten her mood. If she gets all stressed out, he won't know how to help other than by being himself.

"Yeah, I'm sure you do." Ella sounds wry, and uses her temporary height advantage to tickle George something _fierce_.

Once he's bucked her off him, Ella peers over at him from across the bed and says, "Let's get that breakfast. You owe me a pain au chocolat, even if you have to run all over London to find one."

"I have friends in high places," George says knowingly. "Like Costa."

"Oh, you do not." Ella frowns severely at him. "You haven't got any friends in any places, other than me."

She doesn't mean it.

It stings anyway.

And it's stupid because it's Ella and even her insults usually feel like half-compliments, except he's still sort of thinking about how he doesn't belong here but it's not like he belongs anywhere else, either.

He should make a quick quip back but he can't seem to make words that don't immediately die in his throat, so he swallows and remains silent.

"Oh, I didn't mean that," Ella gasps, and her hands are soft on his face. "George, I -- wasn't thinking about it like that. That's a compliment! You're just so lovable, I always forget that... I didn't mean it like that."

"No, don't worry about it, I know." George tries a soothing smile on and it fits like a glove. "I'm being oversensitive; it's been a weird few days. I'm fine."

Ella keeps her hand resting against his cheek and strokes gently beneath his eye with her thumb. It's soothing and nice. It'd be easier if he did just like Ella _like that_ , because she's always around and she's so open with him. "Are things alright with you?"

George closes his eyes for a moment so he doesn't have to look at Ella being worried about him. How this conversation went from him being concerned for her to the opposite, he doesn't understand. "Yeah, things are great. You're not allowed to worry about me."

Ella gives him a long, considering look, but it's only a minute before it turns impish. "Even though there are two members of One Direction who apparently need you to be condom-free for all the weird things they're going to do to you?"

"They're not weird things, shut up!" George wrinkles his nose at her. "It's just easier if we don't have to remember condoms all the time."

"How hard is that to remember?" Ella asks, throwing her hands in the air. "Does Harry Styles just take you that deep into the throes of passion that you can't string together a simple concept?" Her hands land on his shoulders and she leans in. "Really... does he?"

George very carefully avoids her eyes. "He's very good at what he does," he says. " _Very_ good. It's not unheard of."

Ella swoons a little. "I want a One Direction boy of my own to make me forget how simple things work with the sheer force of his kissing."

George blushes a little. "It's, actually, it's weird? Because sometimes when I'm with them, it's like... I really do forget how simple things work. Something in my brains turns off or something. I don't really understand it; hasn't happened to me before."

"Is it bad?" Ella frowns. "If either of them has hurt you, I'll murder them both. Do you not like it?"

"No, I like it," George assures her. "It's just, yeah, a -- weird sex thing, I guess. I'll figure it out."

"Maybe you should ask them about it, though, if you don't know what it is." Ella still looks rather uncertain. "If it's never happened to you before. You obviously have no idea what you're doing."

George knocks his shoulder against hers playfully. "I'm a big boy. I'm fine."

"But really," Ella says. Her eyes look even bigger without all the false lashes. "They shouldn't take advantage of you. If you... feel like you're not thinking right, then that's not on. There's, like, sex safety things more important than condoms, you know. You're such a _boy_ , sometimes, honestly."

"And you're such a girl," counters George. "Really, it's fine. It feels good, so what's the problem?" he reasons. "I've had sex before. The basic rule is that if it feels good, you keep doing it."

Ella still looks concerned, so George gives her a squeaky kiss on the cheek. "Really, Ella Bear. I'm fine. I promise. It's a nice kind of not thinking? Like my brain gets to be empty for a while."

"Only for a while?" Ella asks dryly. "You mean it's not empty _all the time_?"

"My mind is a wonderland of thoughts and intelligence," George informs her. "I know things you could only dream of knowing. Like how it feels to be inside Harry Styles." He smiles at her winningly.

Ella tilts her head. "I'm going to assume it lights up your world like being inside nobody else, and the way he flips his hair gets you overwhelmed?"

"Ha," George says. "And if I said the same for Louis Tomlinson?"

"I'd guess he has that one thing," Ella says, and shrugs. "Go face the wall; I need to get dressed if you're going to find me chocolate pastries."

"I don't feel like getting up yet," whines George. "Can't I just face the wall from here? I need to check my texts, anyway."

"Fine. Harry and Louis have probably sent you some dirty picture you can't tear your eyes off, anyway."

"They've only done that once," George says regretfully. "I _wish_ it were a common occurrence."

"So do I." Ella's voice is muffled as George rolls to face away, and he assumes she's commenced getting dressed. "I also wish they'd get forwarded straight to my phone."

"No," George says quickly, and it comes out sharper than he intended. Just -- he still hasn't quite gotten over that panicky, shaky feeling from the previous weekend when he thought Louis and Harry had stopped trusting him for talking about them to Ella at all, and he can't joke about it. It makes his insides feel tied up.

There's a pause before Ella speaks again. She sounds cautious and George hates it.

"I wasn't being serious. Sorry?"

"No, it's -- fine," George says, but it feels like he has to force the word out of his mouth around some kind of block. "Sorry, there was a... I said something kind of flippant last week when I was with them, and their lives are really hard and no one can know they're together at all, much less, you know, that they have... me, sometimes, and it. I fell apart a little bit after 'cause I felt so guilty. I guess I'm not as over it as I thought."

There's a pause, and silence except the soft swish of Ella's dress gliding down over her hips. Then she's wrapping her arms around his neck from behind and tucking her face against his hair. "You need to talk to them, George Monkey."

"I know I do," George groans, letting himself relax against her. "I just don't know how to bring it up without sounding really creepily overinvested."

"I think you should mention marriage straight away," Ella says immediately. "Have a three-ring binder full of color schemas and flower arrangements. Know the names of your children, definitely. Ages and genders, too, but that's a little unreliable."

"If you believe the internet, _I'm_ our children, so maybe the binder won't be necessary." George closes his eyes. "I'll be sure to bring up marriage, though."

Ella nestles her cheek against the back of his shoulder. "But really, I don't think you'll sound overinvested. They made you go get yourself tested for them, so they're probably expecting something of you, too. Maybe you're equally invested."

"Maybe." George does wonder, though, if it's even possible to feel as invested as he does after two (fantastic) shags and one night where he had a tiny breakdown on their sofa after the Queen performance. He doesn't think either of them feels the way he does, which is good because the world doesn't need this many crazy people.

But Harry had said he understood, he reasons. And that he wasn't crazy.

Maybe Harry is crazy. Maybe Harry and Louis are both crazy and are in no place to judge whether George is crazy.

Maybe everyone who's ever done the X Factor is crazy.

"Ella?" George asks. "Are you crazy?"

"Like a fox," she answers immediately. "Is that the right phrase? It's some sort of animal. Maybe I'm crazy like a giraffe. Or a penguin; I think I'd quite like being crazy like a penguin."

Short answer: Yes.

He does hope that it's not just him, though, who’s feeling a little crazy about how well they’ve connected. They seemed to like him, and wanting him to get tested sort of implies that they plan to keep him around for a while. He wants to be kept. He wants to be wanted, and Harry and Louis want him.

He's glad that he has the X Factor prize to want, too, otherwise it might consume him.

That's... probably supposed to be the other way around, he thinks, feeling a little squirmy.

Ella drops a kiss to the back of his hair where it's bunched up from wearing his hood while it's wet, and she stands up to find her shoes. George does quickly check the text from Harry.

_Sounds like your next visit's going to be fun :) .xx_

George lets out a sigh of relief and the tension he didn't realize was in his shoulders relaxes a bit. He'd apparently been more nervous about any continued interested than he thought.

"Things alright?" Ella asks, glancing at him in the mirror where she's putting on her eyelashes. 

"Yeah," George says, and smiles. "Things are fine."

Ella gives him a little smile. "Good. Now come on, you owe me so much chocolate pastry for waking me up to corrupt me with your sex filth."

"As if you needed corrupting!" George protests, tossing a pillow at her. "And it's not filth, I keep telling you. I don't know why you won't believe me."

"I have never seen anyone so excited before!" Ella protests. "And over not needing to buy condoms?"

"That's categorically a lie," George sniffs. "We've all seen Rylan get through to live shows. I didn't nearly lie down on the floor and bite my own tongue off."

"You wanted to, though. Even now, you're trying not to smile." Ella adjusts her hair and then pokes him, grabbing her bag from the chair in the corner of the room. "You're going mental in your head, I can tell. Come on, let it out. I won't tell anyone."

George blushes, but tackles Ella in a hug with his face pressed into her side as they fall onto the carpet. "They want me, Ella, they want to keep me, and I'm _so happy_."

Ella laughs, but she sounds happy and not like she's making fun of him. "I'm glad. You deserve to be kept. You do still have to tell me all the details, though."

George nuzzles his face into her neck. He still prickles a little when he thinks about how he felt when Harry and Louis found out that he'd been talking about their private life to Ella. "I'll tell what I can."

"I understand." She ruffles his hair a little. "You don't have to tell me _everything_ , obviously. I know sometimes it's nice to just have things for yourself. Like a secret."

George grins and tickles her waist. "What do you know about secrets, little Ella? Do you secretly already have your own One Direction boy, then?"

"Oh, yes, actually, I've decided that Liam Payne's the only boy for me. We're going to have loads of babies and live in a massive house and invite you over for tea. You'll have to leave your two boyfriends at home, though." Ella lifts her nose into the air. "So there's no funny business at the dinner table."

"They're not my _boyfriends_ ," George protests weakly. Ella wriggles herself out from under him and jumps up, offering her hand, and then they're out the door, padding their way down to the elevators to leave for breakfast.

Dan and two blonde girls are waiting for the elevator, too. George puts his arm around Ella.

"Where are you headed?" George asks as the door to the elevator finally opens. It's gloriously empty, and large enough that they're not all crowded together when they pile inside.

Dan blinks. George thinks he might be attempting to give him a significant look. "The lobby. The girls are headed home."

"Oh," George says. Right. That is how most people's one-night stands end. Not in plans to see each other again and vague insinuations that there might be exclusivity.

And he's again reminded that nothing about this situation with Harry and Louis is normal, and in fact, if he told anyone but Ella about it, they'd probably think he was crazy. Or lying. Definitely lying.

He doesn't know why they were concerned about him telling loads of people. Nobody would believe him and he'd probably get kicked off the show.

He'd ruin his own reputation more than theirs, too, probably. He'd seem fame-crazy and, probably, like everyone's worst idea of wild British youth. Harry and Louis at least have been making a successful go of their lives and a boatload of fans who wanted them to be together in the first place. George would be a fly in the ointment, or a fox in the henhouse, or whatever it was such people were called.

He'd ruin the other Union J boys' chances, too. He isn't going to risk that.

Maybe he should mention that, next time he sees them. He really wants them to know that they don't have anything to worry about. He's not going to say anything to anyone who doesn't already know. They'd probably appreciate knowing that. He can't see how they wouldn't already know, but... Perhaps it'd be better to outright say it.

Damn. Ella is right. He needs to talk to them, and not just dirty talk. 

To be fair, it's Harry who does most of the dirty talking. And then Louis. George does honestly the least, but then that's probably because they keep his mouth the busiest.

"Why are you smiling weird?" Dan asks George as the elevator doors slide shut.

George goes an interesting shade of magenta and Ella says, "He just has a good feeling about this weekend, that's all. Might get into some sticky situations, but it'll be okay."

The only reason George doesn't pinch her is because that would draw more attention and he figures he can just do it once they're out of range. He should probably work on having a less expressive face or something. It's only ever going to get him into trouble.

Or he could try thinking about having sex with Harry and Louis less while he's in public. That might work, too.

Then he thinks about it a little, and no. No, that will never work.

After he and Ella take a walk up to Costa for a coffee and pastries -- there are "Support Our George!" signs all over the windows, like he's a war hero from the 1940s and he's the poster boy for the great nation of Costa Coffee -- they're all due to head back to the studio for dress rehearsals.

When they're in getting their hair done, JJ comes up and puts one steady hand on George's shoulder. "You were gone when I woke up. Y'alright?"

"Oh, yeah." George offers him a smile which widens when he remembers why he left so early. "Yeah, I just had to get somewhere early, and then I went to hang out with Ella for a while and got breakfast. Sorry I didn't leave a note, I guess I was in a rush."

JJ gives him a slow nod. "They don't make you run their errands, do they?"

He doesn't say who he means, and George is grateful. He doesn't know how many people in the crew really know Louis and Harry, and -- well, there are a lot of people who come through who they have to style and all of them love a good gossip.

"No, course not. It's not like that." George feels like he's been saying this for ages and nobody listens to him. Even Ella still seems sort of concerned sometimes. "Nobody's making anybody do anything. Swear."

JJ shrugs. "I can't think of anything that I'd wake up at half-four in the morning for, if I didn't have to."

"Trust me," George says, "I can think of something worth it, and you would, too, if it were you."

JJ wrinkles his nose a little. "I don't want to know any specifics, mate. I just can't imagine it. You say you're alright, though, so I'll believe you."

"Thank you," George says, and he gives JJ a smile, because he does like JJ.

"Just don't push yourself too hard?" JJ asks. "I was watching you, you know. On the flight home from Las Vegas. You weren't right. Don't do that again, because we need you and I like you."

There's a moment where George has no idea what to say. He's not used to being paid attention to. He still isn't, even know he knows, logically, that he's on one of the most watched shows in the UK, but it doesn't feel like people, really. People actually care about what happens to him. And yeah, JJ probably only cares because of the band, and success, but it still makes him feel... It makes him feel.

"Thanks," he finally manages, keeping his voice quiet to try and hide how it's a little choked. "I appreciate it. I'm fine, though, I promise."

JJ grins, which isn't the most common occurrence on his serious face -- and then he promptly messes up all of Jamie's hard work on George's hair.

The rehearsals go as well as they can. Their song choice is back to a little dodgy this week, but it's nothing compared to the wreck of Queen. George, watching, can tell, though, that the producers have urged for Louis to make this series the Battle of the Boy Bands, and for every week that they get a wonky song, District 3 will get a great one. And vice-versa.

He just doesn't want to end up in the bottom two. He really, really, really wants to stay in London. In the competition. 

In the band. He wants to stay a member of Union J.

"Hey." George catches Jaymi's arm on their way out of the rehearsal stage after giving Ella a standing ovation. "We should do a TwitCam tonight, as a band. District 3 have their friendship plastered all over the internet and -- fans, girls, fangirls like that sort of thing. We need to look more friendly with each other."

Jaymi, thankfully, seems thrilled with the idea. "Oh, yeah, I like that. Do we have to bring that up with anyone before we do it? I'll tell Josh. I know he's been wanting to make us look more like a unit, too."

George gets quiet for a second, so Jaymi catches him in a headlock.

"He does! Look, it'll be so fun! We can make a big to-do of it. We can wear matching onepieces!"

George laughs and struggles to get free before giving up and letting Jaymi drag him out to the van.

Maybe it's just that they should probably _be_ more of a unit than they are at this point, but looking like one is just as good when it's on camera. As long as they can make it look like they're all best friends, they're golden. And George can definitely make it look good; he tends to hang all over everyone he speaks to, anyway.

Luckily, Josh thinks it's a fantastic idea, probably because he didn't know it was George's.

They get _#UnionJTwitCam_ trending, and they tidy up their hotel room a bit. There is a lot of chest hair to clean out of the bathtub, but no one will own up to it.

(George, at least, counts himself out of the running... although he is starting to wonder whether he'll ever be able to grow chest hair. Or a beard. Although if he's 19 and it's not happening, it probably never will.)

At least that means he doesn't have to shave it off. He can't imagine himself with a beard. For fun, he tries to arrange the sleeve of a shirt to look like one, but it's blue and very obviously cotton so it doesn't work at all.

"Do we have any idea what we're going to talk about or shall we just beg for votes?" asks JJ cheerfully from where he's scrolling through Twitter on his phone.

"I think we just need to answer their questions," George says. "That's what I did last time, and it worked for me loads. They send interesting things."

He's mostly excited about the Onepieces they'd been gifted. His has little monkey ears and a long tail and is warm and fuzzy.

"I've seen bits of yours!" Jaymi calls from the bathroom. "If all we've got to do is let George be cute, I think we're sorted." He's grinning when he comes out, lounging on the bed beside JJ and reaching over to rub George's monkey head.

George feels very cute in this onesie. He nuzzles his head back into JJ's hand and grins.

"Yeah, yeah, George is the cute one, we all know," Josh grumbles. "We're just the window dressing." He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "Nope! It's alright. If you want to be monkey-cute, then I'll be man-cute and it'll be fine. It's fine."

George's face falls, but then he takes a load of air into his lungs and lets it out in a sigh, and the smile pops back up on his face easily enough. "I think your onesie is cute, too. Man-cute. It's a very manly onesie, Josh. You're very manly."

Josh blinks at him, but then he pops a smirk. "You can't blame that chest hair in the drain on me, George. It's still not mine."

"I'll find proof!" George points a finger at him, mostly to admire his onesie-covered arm. "You can't lie to me. I know it was you."

JJ carefully averts his eyes and whistles, and it makes George laugh as Jaymi starts up the webcam.

"This is like an exercise in how sexless I can be when I'm trying," George mutters, flipping down his hood and giving himself a firm talking to in his head as a final reminder that they're all best friends and brothers and they love each other very much.

It's easy to laugh when Jaymi is dancing like a Muppet behind them, not enough room for four men even on two beds pushed together.

"I'm a monkey today," George says, smiling winningly into the camera and flipping up his monkey hood.

He really does feel quite cuddly.

As it turns out, it's very easy to appear like they're the closest band ever when mostly all they have to do is shout out nonsense words and dance. It's nice that Jaymi's in between him and Josh some of the time. Jaymi's general puppy-cuddliness is a nice contrast to the intensity of the way Josh is looking at him. It's not quite anger, but it's still off-putting when George is speaking.

When they all pile into the bathtub and Josh clearly insists that it's not _something they do_ , George has a moment of nerves that maybe -- well, maybe that's why Josh doesn't like him, but then he remembers that Jaymi had to stow away his photos of Olly before they turned the camera on, so at least that isn't it. He feels marginally better, remembering that.

All George really needs to do for the Twitcam is keep things running smoothly answering questions and reiterate that he's a monkey today.

And then they're asked about One Direction.

He really should have been expecting it -- was expecting it, actually -- but Josh looks directly at him and repeats the question, "What was it like meeting One Direction?"

"I thought they were really nice," he answers on autopilot, keeping his gaze on Josh as the others respond with the same sentiment.

"It was awesome," JJ reiterates, while Jaymi agrees, "Totally awesome."

"They're wicked lads," Josh says a little edgily, staring right into the camera. "If we had -- "

George interrupts and starts singing "Live While We're Young" as he bounces on the bed, then realizes his motion at the same moment Jaymi starts giggling and tries to quiet down a little with the bouncing.

They should probably know the words of the song better than they actually do, considering it's their alarm, and he says as much. Granted, they usually hear it through a haze of sleep, so maybe it's understandable that they don't. He giggles at the camera, though, and fixes his monkey ears, and grins when he knows the words _I know we only met, but let's pretend it's love_. It all went surprisingly smoothly, all things considered that could have gone wrong.

It moves on from there to talking about iPhones and three-legged dogs (George really wants one. He has a soft spot for things that have had a rough go of life, he supposes).

George thinks he can definitely do this if this is all it is. It's not too hard to pretend they all get along. It's just like when they're on the show in front of all those cameras, except it's just one camera, and it's a load more talking than he's used to doing, but it's nice, actually. Josh is being good and he's being good and JJ and Jaymi are good at being ridiculous, so as they go on, he relaxes more and more.

Jaymi seems determined to keep the mood as light as possible, constantly doing little dances and flips on the beds in the background. Every time George worries that things with Josh are going to start going downhill, his attention gets caught by Jaymi, and he can't help but burst into laughter.

When they get asked about duetting with One Direction, he imagines standing onstage between Harry and Louis and getting to sing with them, and it's _actually_ everything he's ever wanted. So he tells the truth:

"That would be the best thing ever."

George can't think of anything he'd like better than Harry and Louis and singing. It's all his favorite things. He has to wonder when it is that these two people somehow became the thing in his life he looks forward to the most, and he can't pinpoint it. It's not the time to be thinking about it anyway, though, so he pushes it away for another time.

He's a little late on figuring out why they're Evil Laughing at JJ, but but they move on soon enough and he reads the next question before his brain can catch up --

"Am I the son of Larry Stylinson?"

"I am! I think so," he babbles because he can't reconcile HarryandLouis and what they've been doing with his being their _son_. It's too bizarre to think about and he's grateful when JJ reads another question on the tail end of his response. He needs a moment to shake off how fucking weird the internet is.

They quickly give a few shout-outs, but he can see on the monitor that he looks a little dazed.

This is probably it, he thinks. Everyone watching -- all 22,000 people -- can see it on his face.

So he just reminds them that he's a monkey today.

He also agrees to marry someone. Why not?

And then his phone buzzes with a call from a blocked number.

He figures it'll make for a fun moment if he can make up something in time, and even if he can't, he's wearing a monkey onesie, so there's not much he can do wrong.

"Who could this be? Hello?" he says into the phone expectantly.

"You've made it weird now!" Louis wails. "You're our _son_?"

"Maybe things are different in the future," he can hear Harry soothing in the background. "Maybe 'son' means something totally _not creepy_ , in the time George comes from."

George can't hold back his grin. "Are you watching our TwitCam?"

He can feel how gigantic the smile on his face is and he's started blushing and he looks ridiculous in front of all the people watching them, but it's Harry and it's Louis and he feels warm all over.

"We are," Louis confirms. "You're unfairly cute in that onepiece. Mine just makes me look like I'm wearing a giant body condom."

George can't say anything else or he knows he'll just blurt out everything he's feeling, so he just quickly hangs up and sets it down, mumbling something about whichever girl they're saying whatever thing to now. He'll apologize later but no matter what else he's willing to do for them, embarrassing himself in front of however many thousand people is not one of them. He can just make it up to them.

He just agrees with the next three or four things Josh says, because he feels all hot and squirmy and is trying very hard not to get a boner while wearing his monkey suit because that just feels... like he might need therapy.

Josh keeps poking fun whenever they're asked about celebrity crushes or which celebrities they'd like to meet, but George isn't biting.

He's stuck on thinking about how Harry and Louis are _watching_ right now, they can see him, and he has no doubt they'll be able to see how he's been affected. It's ridiculous that they don't even have to touch him to turn him on anymore. He doesn't know if that's something to be proud or ashamed of.

Harry texts him something and his mobile vibrates loudly on the desk right beside their laptop, and he fumbles trying to turn it off like his fingers are covered in butter.

( _Or lube_ , giggles his brain, and then he tells his brain to shut up already.)

George has no idea how he makes it through the rest of the TwitCam. He's caught between embarrassment and arousal and giddiness and there's no way it doesn't show. He exclaims all his responses and dances more than he's ever danced in his life and might even make up a few words to shout. His saving grace is that the others seem to follow his example and behave just as exhuberantly.

And... it's fun. It's _fun_ , genuinely fun, and he's reminded of that bit in Harry Potter about how sometimes you have to go through things together to become friends, and then wonders if that makes Jaymi the troll in the dungeons.

At one point Harry and Louis call him back, singing "Moves Like Jagger," and he's so delighted that he almost blurts it out.

Because damn. They're still 2/5 of One Direction! And they're serenading him! Exciting.

By the end of it, he even feels like he and Josh might have a bit of an understanding. He's stopped cringing whenever George happens to lean against him, and before they press the button to stop broadcasting, he lets George squeeze in beside him to get all of them in the shot.

He does stutter a little when Jaymi unthinkingly says that George tastes nice when they get a bizarre question-slash-murder-threat that someone wants to eat George for dinner, but he'd probably have stuttered anyway. He doesn't much fancy being killed and eaten.

When George's phone buzzes again, Jaymi grabs it before he can answer. He's almost positive who it is, but Jaymi seems adorably determined, so George lets him. Maybe it'll teach him a lesson about tampering with other people's things.

He has no idea what either Harry or Louis opened with when the phone was answered, but it makes Jaymi's eyes go wide and he repeats "Hello?" sounding slightly strangled.

George giggles.

"Jaymi." He sounds dazed. And a little starstruck.

"You can see me? I can't see you." 

George waves, even though they aren't talking to him.

He's desperate, once Jaymi hangs up and is quiet for a moment, to know what they said to each other while he was distracting their watching fans from the obviousness of their conversation. He nestles his chin on Jaymi's shoulder and gives him puppy eyes.

Jaymi doesn't succumb, though, and George makes a note to work on getting better puppy eyes. He thinks if Harry had tried, Jaymi would have told him anything he wanted to know.

(Though, how much of that has to do with the expression and how much that has to do with him being Harry Styles is another question.)

(It also leads him to a nervous twist of his stomach that maybe Jaymi managed to tell more than George would have liked him to, even in their brief ten seconds on the phone to each other.)

He'll just have to ask Jaymi later when they're alone. He's hardly going to make it more obvious on camera that he wants to know what his two... whatever-they-ares said to his band mate.

They finish up their TwitCam by ransacking the bag of love hearts he'd received from a fan.

The rest of the day goes by quickly once they finish that. George is tired and excited all at the same time, which is exhausting, he discovers.

He does manage to wait until bedtime to corner Jaymi, and he already knows that he won't be able to do this casually, so he blurts it out.

"Hey, what did they say to you earlier? On the phone?"

Jaymi sighs and sets his giant glasses on the bedside table. He pulls the sheets up over his shoulders and George, in the bed beside his, turns out the light. JJ and Josh are in an adjoining room. After that first night with Louis and Harry, Josh had insisted on switching, and George ferries himself between JJ- and Jaymi's rooms to keep from feeling like he's intruding too much.

He doesn't think this is a good sign, sighs and the pause before Jaymi answers. He hopes they weren't horrible. They might have been horrible if they mixed up Jaymi and Josh.

"They're nice, I swear," George pleads, and hides his face in the neck of his t-shirt.

To George's slight relief, Jaymi actually looks a little surprised when he rolls over and looks across the space between them. "I know they are; I've met them before. You were there when I met them!"

"Well, right, but that's One Direction Louis and Harry, that's different than real-person them. Like how -- how Union J Jaymi is a womanizer," George says hesitantly, and hopes that he isn't saying _too_ much about anyone's private life.

Jaymi hums in response. "Well, they were nice on the phone. Or," he amends. "At first, they were a bit -- vulgar. But they were nice when they saw it was me and not you."

George covers his face. "Oh, god."

"George," Jaymi asks carefully, "Have you... been in a relationship like this before?"

"What?" George's hands drop as he frowns. "It's not a relationship. It's just sex, that's all, really. D'you mean with a guy? Or, two, I guess."

"Well, yes, that too, I guess, is important." Jaymi rolls over and props himself up on his elbow so he can stare at George in the dark. "But like, have you been a submissive before?"

"What?" George giggles and wrinkles his nose. "I -- what?"

Jaymi's not laughing, though. Actually, he looks more serious than George has ever seen him. "I need to know you know what's going on, George. I know it's your private business, but I like you and I don't want you getting hurt."

"You and JJ both." George flops onto his belly and covers his head with the pillow. "And Ella! You all think just because they're famous that they're doing weird things to me that I can't handle. I am a grown man, you know. I just can't grow facial hair all that well."

Jaymi makes a frustrated sort of sound. "Fuck's sake, it's got nothing to do with them being famous. It's just you getting into things and having no idea what you're actually doing."

"You of all people know I wasn't exactly a virgin when we started up." George is more frustrated than he knows he probably should be, but it's the night before live shows and he _likes_ Louis and Harry and how they make him feel, and it seems like -- he feels a little attacked right now, is all. Like he's under a microscope being poked and he doesn't know why.

"You do -- you do know it's not just normal, vanilla sex, though, right?" Jaymi suddenly looks a little confused, but no less concerned. "They've _talked_ to you about this, right?"

George shrugs and peeks out from under the pillow. "I -- got tested," he offers.

"Well, that's good," Jaymi says, rolling his eyes, but at least he's smiling now. "I hear Harry got weed on by a koala with chlamydia in Australia."

"Can you catch chlamydia like that?" wonders George, before shaking his head. "Anyway, we've always, er. We've used condoms, always. That's why I had to get tested, so we could. Not."

"You _can_ tell them you still want to," Jaymi says carefully. "You... don't have to just do whatever they tell you. You ought to talk to them about that."

"I know I can," George insists before he takes a breath. Jaymi's just being a good friend. It's rather nice, actually. "It's weird; they said the same thing last time. I'm not a pushover… I just like making them happy."

"It's not always about being a pushover," Jaymi offers. "Sometimes... I know for me, my brain goes a place I can't really think about anything _but_ making my Olly happy. So it's important that we both know what would also make me happy and what makes me feel anxious or that I don't like as much. D'you know what I'm saying?"

George can only stare at him for a long moment. He licks his lips, then, and clears his throat. "I, yeah. Yeah, that's exactly what it's like." He laughs and it sounds a little hysterical so he stops. "I didn't know it happened to anyone else."

Jaymi sighs. "Come over here and give me a cuddle. You haven't been taken care of properly."

It's not like George has to think about it, really. Jaymi's squidgy and ace at cuddling, and George feels a little off, and Jaymi's offering. He slips out of his own bed and pads across the space between them, lingering at the edge of Jaymi's until he pulls the duvet down for George to squirm in.

"There we are, little Monkey Georgie," Jaymi teases, and folds himself around George even though George is taller. "Listen, I'm not going to lie to you -- it is not like that for everyone. And you have to stand up for yourself when it's hard. Especially when it's hard. Because they have to listen to you, alright, not the other way around."

"I just don't want them to get tired of me," mumbles George, his face smushed against Jaymi's chest. "Or make them angry. They're already risking so much by letting me in at all."

"That's rough," Jaymi says. "I hate hiding Olly, and we're not a tenth as famous as they are. But... they're not, like, you're not letting them take out their frustrations on you, are you? Because if you haven't talked to them about things and they're hitting you -- "

"It's not like that," George says quickly. "That's what Ella thought, too, but that's weird, isn't it? People don't really _do_ that. That's just, like, for expensive porn."

Jaymi laughs a little. "And some not-so-expensive, but I want to make sure. You can't let them do anything you don't want to do as well; you know that, at least, right?"

George wrinkles his nose, remembering how he'd felt before he knew Harry was the driver of their car the previous weekend. "But it's okay with me, mostly."

"It's got to be okay with you always," corrects Jaymi. He rubs George's back, and it feels quite nice. "Even if they seem really into it, you don't have to do anything you don't want to."

George is quiet. He's quite sleepy, since he'd woken up at four in the morning to go to the clinic, and they've had a very busy week. "People don't listen to me when I -- it's fine, though. The first time, it was, Louis noticed I was getting hurt and they stopped and fixed it."

"It's not just about getting hurt," Jaymi whispers. "Look, just promise me you'll talk to them about it? Please? It'll make me feel better about letting you go off all on your own with strange men," he jokes.

"I guess I can," George hedges. He pauses. "What did Harry say that you're so worried? I'm fine, really. Clean and everything!"

"You know," begins Jaymi. It looks a little like he might be blushing, but it could just be the light, or lack of it. "I really like you, and everything, but I just don't think we're at a point in our friendship where I can repeat back to you your boyfriend's dirty talk."

George thinks back to the TwitCam and what had happened just before Harry calls, and he remembers that he was trying to explain 'twerking,' and yeah, maybe he can make half a guess at what Harry said. He groans and buries his face in his arms out of embarrassment.

Thankfully, Jaymi seems to find it funny when it's George who's humiliated. "I can't see them getting bored of you, if it's any consolation," he offers. "Great imagination, Harry Styles."

George grunts.

Jaymi laughs and fluffs at George's hair, which George likes very much. He tilts his neck so Jaymi has easier access behind George's ears. 

"It can be really good, if you talk to them," Jaymi says finally. "To get your brain empty like that for a while and know you've got someone to take care of you. Like there's white noise and honey in your head; it's nice."

"That's exactly what it is!" George exclaims, and looks up at Jaymi's face.

"Tell them that," Jaymi insists, but his voice is gently and the way he's rubbing George's scalp feels really soothing. "They're not going to know anything until you tell them."

"But how did _you_ guess, then?" George yawns.

Jaymi smiles. "Because I'm magical," he says very solemnly. "Get some sleep, we've got a long day tomorrow."

"Magic Jaymi," George mumbles, delighted. He does love getting cuddled to sleep.

"Have you got your alarm set? Mine is, if not." Jaymi nuzzles into George's hair and might kiss his head. George can't tell through the haze of sleepiness. "Feel alright?"

"Mm-hmm." George sighs and burrows under the blankets a little deeper. Jaymi's bed is right under their fan, and it's colder than his own.

"You really are a needy little cuddlebug," Jaymi laughs softly. "Not a bad thing. Go to sleep."

George would respond with some sort of snappy comment, to continue the fun banter they've got going, but he's far too tired. Instead, he bites Jaymi's collarbone before settling in to sleep.

"Ouch!" Jaymi murmurs. "A cuddlemosquito. I've been corrected."

George just curls closer to him and resolves to dream up a proper comeback. Maybe his subconscious will be better at it.

The next day is a blur, the way Saturdays always are. George is rushed through hair and wardrobe so quickly he actually doesn't remember what he's wearing until he looks down and sees it, and even then he has to double check to make sure the other boys match him. Not that he thinks anyone would accidentally mess that up, just. He's tired, and he's still not so used to being rushed around, and he misses his bed.

"I miss bed," he announces, settling his chin on JJ's shoulder. They still have about an hour before they perform, so he's trying to keep calm and not freak out about the song choice or the choreography or any of his lines. "Can I go back to bed, yet?"

"Nope!" JJ distractedly pats George's cheek. "Are you coming back this week, then? Or have you made plans with your..." He clears his throat and then consciously lowers his voice. "You know; them."

George shrugs one shoulder. The only thing he'd heard from either of them since the morning was a short text from Louis saying, _make me proud !!_

"Dunno," George decides. "I think it depends on how the show goes over."

"Guess we'd better smash it, then." JJ offers George a smile that only wobbles a little. "It's only One Direction we've got to impress, after all. Not a big deal in the slightest."

George rubs JJ's back. "Are you feeling alright? Gonna be up for a solo next week?"

JJ goes a little green and shakes his head. George tucks his own head onto JJ's shoulder and just holds him, rubbing his side soothingly. For being the oldest, JJ was the least confident taking the stage -- he had told George once, when they were last sharing a bedroom, that he'd probably feel more at home if they had a horse in their act. George had waggled his eyebrow, and JJ smacked him with a pillow. 

It ended up being some of the most fun George had had in a long time, but it also meant that now he felt bound to watch out for JJ a little before they went onstage. It's not like that's a problem, though. George is slowly but surely settling into being part of this band, and he knows that part of being in a band is taking care of the other members. If what JJ needs to feel alright about taking the stage is a bit of a cuddle before they go on, George is alright with that. He thinks JJ would do the same for him.

"Hey, we're gonna be brilliant, alright? Don't you think it's a good arrangement this week?" George coaxes. "You don't have to have a solo ever if you don't want."

JJ still looks a little blotchy, so George blurts the next thing that comes into his head. "Louis never had a solo on the show, either. You can be the new Louis."

This makes JJ look a combination of smirky and nauseous. It's an interesting look for multiple reasons. "Have you gone back and watched all of their shows, or do you just happen to remember that?"

The shade of purple that George goes is enough to bring some color back into JJ's face, and he pats George's cheek.

"You're precious," he laughs. "Are you always so thorough when it comes to fangirling boy bands or is it just so you had more lyrics to doodle on your I Heart Larry Stylinson notebook?"

"Nothing's fine, I'm torn," mumbles George, very carefully looking anywhere but directly at JJ. "I just wanted to see, you know, how they progressed through the show. It was for _research_."

JJ tweaks the end of George's nose lightly, since they are under pain of death from Lou Teasdale lest they mess up each other's hair. "Sadly, I actually believe you a bit. We do have to learn from them, don't we?" He narrows his eyes. " _As performers_."

"Right, yes, loads to learn. If they're an international success, we can be, too." George's hands flutter a little. "Oh, I shouldn't have said that, now I feel a bit ill," he mutters.

JJ pats George's shoulder and they nestle together until it's time to take their seats in the wings and await their turn. It's daunting enough having to go on right after James, but his performance is _flawless_ and the comments are fantastic -- plus, he has that great sob story this week about his panic attack, and the cameras lap it right up.

Still, they've got their cutest faces on and their video package makes them look adorable, and it's not like George can actually run away like he wants to. Instead, he steels his nerves and reminds himself of Louis's text. He can do this. He has to make Louis and Harry proud.

It goes well. The leather trousers still feel silly -- like something _actual_ popstars would wear, not... just George and JJ and Jaymi and Josh -- but they sound good and they look good. George's solo is strong this week. Their choreography is simple, but it fits the song. They're good. Solid.

The reaction from the judges is good as well; Tulisa loves them and Gary gives them complimentary feedback. Louis is pleased as always, and even Nicole's negative commentary about their harmony isn't enough to make George completely lose his grin.

He did well. He did Louis proud. He did well. Louis will be proud, he will. George is sure of it. He dives for his mobile as soon as they're back in the greenroom, but there's nothing there.

Well, that's fine. They probably assume that he's still backstage waiting for Ella. It's fine; he did well. Louis will be proud.

He keeps reminding himself of that because if he does anything else he'll go insane, can feel it like an itch in the back of his brain. He did so well. Louis will be so happy with him for doing well. He's just waiting to tell George about how well he did. That's all.

Jaymi has his arm rested loosely over George's shoulders while they watch the rest of the show on the closed-circuit cameras. Rylan gets a lashing from Gary as usual; Lucy is asked about getting kicked out of the hotel. You can hear Kye's flu in his voice.

The first little wriggle of cold in George's gut comes in with the opening notes of District 3's performance. They're more than solid this week. And George has, in the back of his mind, the distinct feeling that Union J has been set up somehow... Nicole's comment about harmonies. They're being forced to play against each other as rivals whether they like it or not.

But it's the public's opinions that count, George reminds himself. His heart is beating faster than he'd prefer, though.

The public. And Louis. He has to make Louis proud.

He did, though, he knows he did. Their performance went better than George could have hoped, even, and the audience had loved them.

George doesn't want to compete against District 3. Well, he knows he has to, because they're competing against all the other acts, but he doesn't want it to be about who's the better boy band, even though he knows it's going to be. He genuinely likes Dan and Greg and Micky, wants to see them do well in the competition, but not if it's going to be at their expense, not like this.

And... well, he knows how much it hurt Jaymi and JJ and Josh when they were sent home once already because of a showdown with GMD3. He was brought in to help them win against the other boys, and if he can't do that... then he shouldn't be here at all, he thinks. If he can't help Union J beat the former GMD3, then he'll be sent packing on his own again.

George really doesn't want that. He really likes being in a boy band. It's why he tried out for the X Factor instead of sticking with Parisa and Megan and Charley. 

Harry did that with his old band, too, George remembers. He wants to find what Harry has with the rest of One Direction.

And Louis. George wants a Louis. Well, he wants _Louis_ , period.

George thinks they really have something here. He'd been skeptical for a while about whether or not they could really make it as a boy band, and maybe the praise and all the girls outside the hotel all the time and everything, maybe that's gone to his head, but he really thinks they could be something.

They're not going to be anything unless they can be the best, though. They need to be the best. George needs to try harder. His hardest. He needs to make Louis proud.

That was his job today. If he could make Louis proud, then --

His mobile buzzes, and George fumbles it between his fingers in his haste to unlock the screen. It isn't a text, though; Louis' just tweeted.

_Not gonna lie district 3 smashed it !_

George stares at the screen. He probably hasn't actually floated off into space, but that's what it seems like, because he can't feel his limbs, and his brain is buzzing, and he didn't do well enough for Louis. He wasn't good enough.

His hands are cold. Are his hands always so cold? Does he have hands? 

"You're okay," Jaymi whispers in his ear, but George doesn't hear him. Somehow he's in the corridor, not sitting on the sofa. Why is Jaymi still here?

George curls up against the cinderblock wall and covers his ears with his cold hands. He didn't do well enough, did he; he has to do better. He didn't make Louis proud. He didn't smash it. He was supposed to smash it.

What did he do wrong? He had to do something wrong or Louis would have texted him, or tweeted about him, or told him he did _so well, you did so well_ again. It had to have been George who did something wrong, and he needs to know what, so he never does that ever again, so he never feels like this ever again.

He doesn't understand, it feels like everything in him is slowly going numb and it's one of the worst things he's ever felt. Feeling so panicked only has him more panicked, though. He can understand why James sent for an ambulance last week.

_What's up with Georgie?_

JJ did well. JJ was so good, and he smiled, and he sang well. Maybe George didn't smile enough. Maybe he smiled too much. He did something wrong and he's ruined it, and he has to fix it.

 _You ring that tan little wanker and tell him that he's broke George and he has to fix it_. Jaymi's voice is fierce, and then he's warm and squidgy and nice as he curls himself around George's trembling back.

"You're okay, George, you're okay. I promise you're okay," Jaymi murmurs.

"I ruined it," is all George can say, his head dropped so low his chin is almost touching his chest. "I ruined it, I've ruined it, I fucked it all up, it's all wrong now." Everything is wrong, everything in the world, and George can’t even figure out why. He knows he wasn’t supposed to disappoint Louis and now he has, and it’s the worst thing he’s ever done somehow, must be. Why else would he feel like this? “Everything’s wrong. I did it wrong.”

"No, you didn't," Jaymi whispers. "We were _good_ , George. You didn't react like this after Queen, did you? Hmm? _Think_ about why you feel like this and tell me you understand _you were fine_."

George's shoulders hitch a little as he tries to think through the fog of disappointment in his brain. "He said to make him proud and I didn't," he mumbles. "I didn't make him proud." He takes a big breath all in a rush and it _physically hurts_. "I did something wrong, I can fix it, I have to fix it, I have to make him proud; he said to make him proud and I can do it, I just have to work harder, right? I can still do it."

"Oh, Georgie, you did work hard, you know you did." Jaymi sounds a little sad but with this undercurrent of anger, and George can't tell who it's aimed at. "You don't have to fix anything, you're fine, love, you're great. You're gonna be alright."

George looks up at Jaymi, and his eyes are huge. "Are you mad at me, too? I didn't mean to disappoint you, too, I'll be _so sad_ if we get kicked off because of me, I tried _really hard_ , Jaymi. I promise I did. Can I fix it? What can I do?"

Everyone is mad at George. It feels like his heart has broken.

"You didn't disappoint me, not at all." Jaymi cups George's face in his hands, and he looks very stern. "We did brilliant and if your boy tries to tell you any different, I'll fucking pop him one. You didn't do anything wrong, George, I need you to see that. You didn't do _anything_ wrong."

George looks down as best he can while Jaymi is holding his face so tightly. "I was supposed to make him proud. He said it, he said, 'make me proud' and then I didn't. District 3 made him proud and he's -- I have to do better so he likes me more than them again."

Jaymi sighs and pulls George into a hug. "I'm sure he likes you more than them, still," he whispers into George's ear. "And I'm sure you still made him proud. He still likes you best."

"He likes Harry best," George murmurs, and he's so -- tired and wired at the same time, like his body _actively_ needs to _sleep_? "I'm just extra, I have to prove -- I have to earn it. I'm not Harry Styles. I don't even look like him, really."

"You're not just extra and if they've made you think that I'll kill the both of them." Jaymi's voice is very suddenly fierce. "Maybe you're not Harry Styles but you're still important. You matter, and you've proved everything you need to prove."

George shakes his head. _Jaymi doesn't get it. He doesn't understand -- George has to make Louis understand how hard he tried. He has to make Louis understand that he's still good, he's a good boy and he tried really hard and he can still do it. He can make Louis proud._

"Come here, we'll make this right," Jaymi murmurs, gathering George closer. "Shh, it'll be alright. You need to talk to him, okay? To both of them."

George buries his face in Jaymi's collar. He can hear JJ's voice, and Jaymi's, and they're talking, but George doesn't really care. He doesn't have to listen to them; he has to think about how he's disappointed Louis and how he can make it better.

Jaymi keeps up a steady rubbing pressure on George's back and it's nice, gives him something to focus on that isn't disappointment and sadness and not-good-enough. He tries to breathe more easily but it just isn't happening, so he gives up and lets himself breathe in little gasps and wheezes.

And then Ella is rubbing the back of his neck. _The show must be over_ , George realizes faintly. _There's no way to go back onstage and fix it._ Everything is going by so much faster than it should and George can’t figure out why.

And oh, God, he has to go pretend to smile and be happy on the Xtra Factor and Caroline will be there and she's never disappointed Harry, and she probably made Harry and Louis so happy because she's so good and she didn't mess everything up.

"Hey," Ella whispers in George's ear. "Hey, can you do me a favor, George Monkey? Please? For me?"

"I'll mess it up."

"No, you won't, I promise," Ella murmurs, and she squeezes his hand. Her hands are warm. "Can you pick your head up and give me a nice smile? I could really use a smile, because Gary hated my dancing."

"I don't think Louis likes me anymore. I think he might hate me. I told him I couldn't dance but we danced anyway. The first time, I mean." George's head is all mixed up and he doesn't think anything he's saying is making any sense because he's terrible at everything anyway.

"George," says a new voice. It's firm. It's... Josh. " _Nobody hates you_ , George. Look, I'm -- you're great, okay?"

"I'm not great. I was supposed to make him proud and I didn't. They made him proud, I didn't make him proud. You don't like me," George says, frowning a little. It seems very important to acknowledge, even though they're usually careful to avoid discussing that.

There's a very silent pause in the corridor. Jaymi and Ella are still rubbing George, though, and it's making him even sleepier. 

"I don't like that we weren't good enough without you," Josh says finally. "Which means you're _good_ , alright? _You're_ the one who's good."

Well, that just doesn't make any sense to George. He's not good, he's just a disappointment. He's let everyone down and he's let Louis down. He wishes he could fix it but he doesn't know how to be better when he was trying his best.

"He said to make him proud," he whispers. "I thought I did."

"Well, I give up," Josh announces, and stands. "We have to go back up for Xtra in like, five minutes. Do we need a med team? Has he cracked?"

"No," JJ says from somewhere up above George. "They're on their way. Not the med team. The -- Louis and Harry."

Someone makes a high-pitched sound and it takes George a moment to realize it's him, and he's also pressing himself hard against the wall behind him.

"Oh, _what now_?" he thinks he hears Josh say, but Louis is coming to tell him how disappointed he is in person and George doesn't think he can handle that.

"Get out of here, you – mouse-dick baboon-arse fuckwad," Ella swears, and normally it would be funny, but George is dying and nothing will ever be funny again. It’s like Dementors have got him, he thinks faintly, but it evaporates as soon as it crosses his mind. "And keep Greg and Micky and Dan out, too. They'll only make him feel worse."

George doesn't hear anything else from Josh but there's the squeak of what sounds like retreating footsteps on lino down the corridor, and George feels his shoulders relax a little. His hands are still curled into fists, though, pressing his fingernails into his palms so hard it hurts.

Jaymi touches George's cheek. "You have to relax, love. Open your eyes, look at me. We're gonna breathe now, okay? Just like singing practice. Can you do that for me?"

It's strange, George hadn't even realized his eyes were closed. He doesn't want to open them, but Jaymi doesn't sound angry anymore and maybe he's not upset with George. He takes a shuddering breath in and blinks his eyes open, wincing at the bright lights coming down on them from the ceiling.

"Good!" Jaymi's voice is soft and kind and it makes George's chest loosen a little. "Really good, George. We're gonna breathe, okay? Can you nod if that's okay?"

George hesitates -- he isn't okay -- but he can breathe. If that will make Jaymi be less angry with him, then he can breathe. So he nods.

"You remember how this works, right, Georgie?" Jaymi makes a show of breathing in heavily and then letting the air whoosh out of his lungs. He does it again, in and then out in a rhythm he obviously wants George to copy.

George can hear Ella behind him -- at some point, he's ended up in Jaymi's lap, but he doesn't mind -- and she's breathing, too, while she rubs his back. He looks around and there's JJ staring down at them and his face is all knit up, and George doesn't like that at all. He needs to fix it.

So he breathes.

In, and then out. In and out. A little of the tension in Jaymi's face seems to relax at that, so George keeps doing it. He can do this right. He can make people happy, he can. He's doing well.

Jaymi rests his forehead against George's. "Good, George. Really good. Keep breathing, George. You're doing well."

It's something for George to latch on to -- Not as good as it would be coming from Louis, but George has resigned himself to never receiving Louis's approval again. Jaymi thinks he's doing well, though. Jaymi likes when he's breathing properly, so he can do that. He can do that for Jaymi.

He can feel Ella lift her head from where she's rested it on the crest of his back. 

"Okay," she says, and then she kisses the back of George's head. "We have to go up, Monkey. Caroline and Olly are set to go on."

Somehow, George manages to get to his feet, though he doesn't recall using any of his muscles to get upright. He stares at Jaymi, trying to make words for a moment but not succeeding.

Jaymi presses his forehead against George's again and holds his shoulders tight enough to hurt.

George loves it.

"We're gonna go up now, and you're going to smile for everyone and you're not going to worry, okay, because you're really good and everyone's rooting for you," Jaymi instructs, his low voice fair and firm.

"Okay," murmurs George, closing his eyes and repeating those words in his head. "I'm really good. Everyone's rooting for me." He opens his eyes again. "I'll be good?"

"You're really good," Jaymi confirms. "Just focus on what's happening around you _right now_. That's it. That's the only thing you can think about, okay? So what's happening _right now_?"

George blinks slowly as he tries to figure out what to say. "We're in a corridor," he finally guesses. "We're supposed to do Xtra. I'm really good and everyone's rooting for me."

"Good!" Jaymi praises. It doesn't give George the same flushing rush as when Harry or Louis do it, but -- no. He's not supposed to think about them right now.

It's still nice to hear, and it's nice of Jaymi to say, so George flashes the best smile he can muster. He hopes it's good enough because he feels like if he tries any harder his lips will crack and bleed.

Jaymi smiles back encouragingly. "That's a really nice smile, George. You should keep doing that."

"Come on, Monkey," Ella says gently, and she takes George's hand. "Will you walk with me?"

George squeezes Ella's hand gently. She has really small hands, delicately fingered and little. In comparison, it feels like his own hand is engulfing hers. He takes one step and nearly stumbles over his own feet because his leg's gone pins-and-needles up to the knee, but after a moment he manages to right himself and take another step.

"D'you have him, Ella?" Jaymi asks. "I need to talk to JJ for a minute."

Ella nods over her shoulder and keeps leading George towards the stairs.

"I'm sorry I missed your song," says George in a strained voice. He clears his throat, clinging to Ella's hand. "I wanted to see you dance."

Ella kisses his cheek gently. "I'll dance for you anytime, Monkey."

"Maybe later," George agrees blandly. Steps are easy, he can go up steps. One foot in front of the other all the way to the top. They're just steps, after all. He really shouldn't have to think this hard about going up steps.

When he gets up to the studio... there's District 3 talking to Josh, all of their heads bowed, and George's bones feel achy again because _they_ get Louis' praise now, and Louis is proud of _them_ , and he isn't proud of George anymore because George failed. 

Ella's still there, though, her hand all little in his, and he has a job to do right now so he focuses on that. He aches and his head hurts and he wants to take a nap but forever, and he can't, and it's awful.

"What's happening right now?" Ella asks him, squeezing his hand.

"We're waiting for Xtra?" George guesses. "And I'm going to talk to Caro-Caroline and, and Olly."

"That's right," Ella agrees, "And some starstruck girl will ring up and ask you a question because she's in love with you, because you're wonderful and you did amazingly, and you're the best one. Right?"

"Right," George agrees even though none of that's true. Well, the starstruck girl part might be, he doesn't know. They do tend to tell him they love him a lot, though. But he didn't do amazingly and he's not wonderful and he definitely isn't the best anything.

Maybe Louis and Harry should fuck Dan or Greg or Micky. They're the best ones.

"No, they shouldn't," Ella says sharply, and George realizes he's been babbling aloud. "And they aren't, because Dan is an idiot who chooses Mahiki big-boob girls over me, and if that makes him the best one, then I'll be sad, and I don't want to be sad because then we're both sad and that's just a sorry state. So stop it."

"Okay," says George. Ella shouldn't be sad, ever. If George knows anyone who should always be happy, it's Ella, because Ella's all of the good things in people and none of the bad. Ella makes him laugh and smile and likes him. "Okay, not being sad."

Ella rubs his back and smiles at him.

"Wasn't sad anyway," George tries to explain. "Just -- feel funny. My head hurts."

"I know, we'll get you something for it in a while, okay?" Ella squeezes the back of George's neck a little. "Just need to get through this, first. Can you do that for me?"

George nods. "Is everyone upset with me?"

"Nobody's upset with you, Georgie." She hooks her arm in his and gives him a bright smile. "Everyone loves you. Everyone always loves you."

George wants to shake his head and say, _no, Louis loves Harry and Harry loves Louis, but they don't love me. And they won't, because I didn't listen. I didn't make them proud. They like me when I listen to them and I didn't today._ And he wants to say, _Josh doesn't, no matter what I do_. And _I think it'd be easier if you did love me, Ella. But we both know you don't. At least not like that._

But he doesn't. Jaymi said only to think about what's happening right now, so George thinks about going over to the seats where the Groups will wait for their turn.

George has to keep repeating it in his head to stay aware of what's going on around him every time he starts drifting into his head. Sometimes he looks over and Ella's looking at him with an encouraging look, and Jaymi keeps touching him to remind him, George supposes, that he's there.

JJ has snuck his mobile onto set with them, George notices as he looks around the studio blankly. That's odd. JJ is always one for following rules -- better than the rest of the Groups, anyway. George tilts his head and thinks, _that's funny. My iPhone has a white case; JJ's is black, I thought_ , but then he forgets about it.

He could do better, he thinks, but he pays attention as well as he can and answers direct questions with words he's pretty sure are real, and nobody glares at him or tells him he's done anything else wrong. That's as good as he can hope for, he's pretty sure, when he still feels all wrong in his head and too big for his skin.

He just wants to go back to his room and put on his soft, fuzzy monkey onesie and lie in bed with his head under the pillows forever. He doesn't want to have to leave his room and know that it isn't to go to Harry- and Louis' nice house ever again. He wants to rewind a week and have them proud of him again, and give him lots of kisses and rewards and nice words because he did such a good job.

This might be his last night on the X Factor, too, he thinks, and it makes his head hurt even worse.

He doesn't have anything like this back home. He doesn't have an Ella, who's all smiles and happiness, and he doesn't have a Jaymi, who somehow knows more about what he's doing than he does. He doesn't even have a JJ to talk to and get advice from.

And George definitely doesn't have a Harry or a Louis back at home. If this all ends here tonight, then everything ends, basically.

The worst part is, he wants to ask Harry for advice, because once upon a time, Harry had been in this position -- left his band of best friends back home to try out as a solo act and then been chucked into a new band on the X Factor.

But he can't. And it sucks.

It can't actually take as long as it feels to get all the filming done, because it feels like it takes about six hours. George just wants to go back to the hotel, or rather, he wants to go to Harry- and Louis' house and fall asleep in their bed with them next to him but he can't have that and he doesn't know if he'll ever have that again. Probably not.

He's thinking on a loop. Even his brain is broken, he thinks glumly. No wonder no one wants him.

No, no, no. He has to stop thinking like that. He's good and everybody loves him. He can't lose sight of that now, not with cameras and everyone's eyes on him. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, firmly repeating in his head, _I'm good. Everybody loves me_.

Jaymi squeezes George's thigh gently, and it makes George feel a little better.

And then he follows JJ's eye-line where he's glancing off to the side of the soundstage... and there are Harry and Louis, standing in the door.

Immediately, it's like George's lungs turn to ice and his whole body goes into shock and he's not breathing but he doesn't know how to fix that. He has no idea what the expression on his face must look like right now but he doesn't know how to fix it.

He can't tell either of their expressions from this distance but he can't imagine they'd look anything but disappointed in him and he can't fucking _breathe_.

"George?" Caroline asks, and he blinks and his mouth flounders. He makes some noises and gestures a lot and figures that's probably good enough to satiate whatever fifteen-year-old has called in to ask him about -- whatever it was. Something with a J? Union J. She's asked about Union J. That makes sense. He's in Union J. The band he's in, that's what it's called. It's called Union J and he's in it with three other people who are all J’s, but he's not a J, he's a G; he's George. He doesn't fit there and he doesn't fit with Harry and Louis who deserve someone who will make them proud and he doesn't fit anywhere. He doesn't know what to do.

As soon as he's off-stage, he starts heading over to Harry and Louis so he can apologize, but Jaymi wraps his arm around George's waist tightly and he can't wriggle away.

"No, not yet," Jaymi says, "We have to wait with everyone else."

"I have to tell them I'm sorry," protests George, his voice all croaky with nerves. "I have to tell them I'll be better."

Jaymi just shakes his head, and George can see JJ talking to Harry and Louis. JJ looks angry. His face is all knit up again, and Harry's is, too, but Harry -- maybe Harry looks sad. Of course he's sad. He's sad that George has disappointed them. George wants to tell them, he needs them to know, he needs Louis to know he can do well, he can be better than District 3, and he'll do whatever he has to do as long as Louis is proud of him. He'll do whatever it takes never to feel like this again.

He'll stay up all night singing if he has to. He'll learn to dance. Ella can teach him.

"I need to tell them," he mumbles to Jaymi. Now that he can see Harry and Louis, he can't look away. Harry looks awfully upset, but Louis's face still isn't clear. George imagines he must be disappointed as well. Maybe they won't want to talk to him at all. Maybe he's not worth that anymore.

Jaymi's face softens a little. "What do you want to tell them, Georgie?"

"That I'll do better and I'm sorry. And I can make them proud. And I should've made them proud today but I didn't and I'm sorry." George feels manic but exhausted, like he wants to jump right out of his bones. He tilts his head. Jaymi won't judge him. "Do you think if I give Louis a really good blowjob, he'll forgive me?"

Jaymi doesn't laugh at him, which is a good sign. He just looks at him thoughtfully. "You don't need to have sex with people for them to like you," he says slowly. "There's nothing to forgive because you did brilliantly. Unless he's the most massive twat in the entire world, he'll tell you that himself."

George shakes his head vigorously. "When I give him blowjobs, he tells me I'm good. And when I let him do it. Even in the car, when I thought someone else was driving. But it was just Harry, so it was okay."

"Would it have not been okay if it wasn't?" Jaymi says quickly. "Did that make you uncomfortable? Was it not alright?"

George doesn't really know how to answer. He tries, though -- opens his mouth and everything. But it's like the words are stuck, like there's plastic in his mouth and he can't around it. He swallows, shrugging and shaking his head and nodding all at the same time.

That seems to be enough for Jaymi, though. "If you don't like something, you need to tell him or them or whoever's there," he says in a very firm voice. "Nobody can read your mind. If you don't want something or if something's too much in a bad way, you can say no."

"They're already mad at me," George hedges, and covers his face with his hands. His cheeks are too hot and his hands are too cold.

"You should be mad at them," Jaymi argues right back. " _I'm_ mad at them. You shouldn't feel like this, George, especially for how little you know them."

George just shakes his head helplessly. Jaymi doesn't understand but that's not surprising. George doesn't even understand. He feels so much and he doesn't know how to make it stop. He doesn't even know if he wants it to stop. He just wants his head not to hurt.

The show wraps, and George wants to go right to Harry and Louis and apologize, get on his knees and beg and grovel and prove that he can be good still, but Jaymi and Ella are holding him back. George watches, wide-eyed, as Harry gives Caroline a hug. 

Dan, Micky, and Greg go over to Harry and Louis, and George's brain just... drops out. There's just white noise in his ears, and all he can see are the places where they're touching each other. Louis' hand on Micky's shoulder. Dan's chest pressed to Harry's where they share a hug.

He doesn't want anybody touching them other than him. He can't feel his body anymore, and he can't hear or see or touch properly, barely even notices whether Ella and Jaymi are still holding him or not. Is he even still alive? He doesn't think he's breathing.

There's that high-pitched noise again. Where is that coming from?

Oh, no. Louis is looking at him and he doesn't look happy at all. George thinks Louis looks much better when he's smiling. Or coming. That face is good, too. George is good at making Louis make that face; he should do that. Maybe that will remind Louis that he likes George. Liked him. Likes him. Did like him.

He's moving, now, so that must mean Ella and Jaymi have let him go, which is good because he needs to tell Louis that he's sorry, and maybe give him a blowjob, because no matter what Jaymi's said, that's bound to go over well and George just really really wants Louis to like him again. Still like him. Continue to like him.

Harry intercepts him before he reaches Louis, and wraps his arms tight around George's shoulders. He smells good, and he feels good, and he's murmuring little sounds into George's hair.

George can't do this anymore. He thinks he goes a bit limp, as his legs stop working, his face tucked into Harry's chest. He can't let go or else he'll just fall over, so he locks his arms around Harry's waist and holds on for dear life.

_I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry._

"Shh, shh," whispers Harry, or maybe he's just making more noises. George hadn't realized he was apologizing aloud. He really needs to stop doing that.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, "Please don't -- I can -- let me -- I'm sorry, please, I have to tell Louis."

Harry does this sort of sighing thing and looks over his shoulder, his arms loosening enough that George can move and take a step though he's positive his legs didn't work a minute ago.

"Louis?" George asks, and his voice is wobbly. "I'm -- " He forgets what he wanted to say and shakes his head, shuffling forward. He starts to drop to his knees but Harry stops him, catches him under the arms and hauls him back up. Maybe that's good. Harry knows Louis better. Maybe Harry won't let George upset Louis anymore.

Or maybe, George thinks, his heart stuttering in his chest, maybe Harry just knows that Louis doesn't want him anymore. Maybe Harry and Louis have already discussed it and Louis doesn't want anything to do with George now.

"Shh, George, it's okay," Harry whispers. "Stand up. That’s really good."

It's like George's heart starts beating again. His hands aren't cold anymore. His head even feels a little better. He can breathe a little easier and it's not so hard to stand up straight even though Louis still hasn't said anything. Harry said he's a good boy. He's been good. He can be good. Harry still likes him.

Harry keeps holding George, and it's nice. Harry is very strong, and very warm, and he's very steady. George doesn't feel steady at all, so he sags a little in Harry's arms -- but keeps standing up, because Harry said to stand up if he's a good boy. 

And that's when Jaymi walks up to Louis and shoos Greg away. Jaymi looks -- angry, George thinks through the woozy feeling of Harry holding him. That's strange, he thinks. Jaymi's never angry, really. Annoyed sometimes and bossy, sure, but he doesn't ever get angry.

"That's Jaymi, right?" Harry asks in George's ear, and his voice is so nice. George hums. "Is that Jaymi?"

Oh, right. He's asking. George nods quickly. "That's Jaymi."

"I talked to him yesterday," Harry murmurs. "He's very nice about you. He likes you a lot. Do you like Jaymi?"

"I like you," George offers quickly. Maybe Louis is upset with him because they think he likes Jaymi better, and that won't do at all.

Harry laughs a little. "I know you do, I was asking about Jaymi. Do you like him? I can't remember which one you told us you didn't like all that much."

"That's Josh," George whispers. "He was nice to me today, though."

"That's good!" Harry whispers, and his thumb strokes at George's belly through his t-shirt, and it feels so nice because it's _Harry_ that George is a little afraid that he might embarrass himself. "What was he nice about?"

"When I said I wasn't good, he said I was. He said I was good even though I wasn't." George shivers a little as he thinks about it, about the feeling he never wants again. "He said I was great and that nobody hates me."

Harry keeps rubbing gently at George's belly. "Why did you think you weren't good?"

"Because I wasn't," George states, bewildered. "I didn't -- I didn't smash it. I was supposed to make him proud and then I didn't."

"Who did you not make proud?" Harry sounds a little indignant, and it makes George feel a bit like jelly again. In a bad way. "And you did smash it, George. You were really good."

George feels confused and wibbly and awful. "But he tweeted about them. He thinks they did better. Louis," he clarifies, as he remembers that being one of Harry's questions.

Harry's hand stutters a little and stops. George can hear him swallow.

"And that upset you this much?" Harry clarifies. "That -- JJ called and said you were in a bad way, was that... that was because Louis tweeted about District 3?"

"He said I was supposed to make him proud," says George in a voice so quiet he almost can't hear it himself. He feels very small all of a sudden. Small and sad and stupid. “I don’t know why it’s made me this sad I didn’t, though.”

"You're taking advantage of him!" Jaymi yells suddenly, and George's head snaps up. He's never heard Jaymi yell before, at least not angrily. He'd been so mad at the Poisonous Twins back in Vegas after they walked in on George and JJ and started up rumors about him and how he'd be kicked out of the competition, but even then, Jaymi hadn't _yelled_.

It takes a moment for George to realize what exactly Jaymi's shouting about, but when it clicks into place, he feels warm and prickly, altogether unpleasant. He doesn't want this. He doesn't want this to happen at all.

"No!" He protests, and tries to go over to them, but Harry keeps holding him tight. He shakes his head fervently. "They're -- it's not like that."

"Lou can handle himself," Harry says into George's ear. "You worry about you, okay? I know what it's like and you know what it's like. That's what's important."

"It's not... everybody thinks there's something wrong with me doing things for you," George says, and Harry starts stroking George's stomach again gently. "But there isn't, is there?"

Harry sighs, and George feels awful. "We need to talk about that. Together, with Louis."

"But I can do better," George says immediately. "I, we don't need to stop just because I was -- I didn't do well today, right? I can do better."

"You did amazing today, George, you were so good," Harry tells him. "We don't want to stop, either, but we need to talk about this. All three of us, together. Can you do that for us? Talk about this?"

George is so tired. "Jaymi said I had to talk to you about it, too."

"Jaymi is smart," Harry says, and he kisses the side of George's head. Things are a little better.

He frowns. "Jaymi doesn't yell," he informs Harry. "I've never seen him this angry before. I don't know why he's so angry."

Harry sounds small, and sad, and like he feels stupid this time. "Because Louis and I deserve it today."

"No," George insists. He can't even imagine that. Harry and Louis are brilliant. "No, that's not true."

Louis is still standing tall across the room, but he doesn't look happy. He's gesturing a lot while he whispers with Jaymi now, but only Jaymi's face is fierce. Louis looks -- apologetic. Abashed. 

He looks like he agrees with Harry.

George hasn't ever seen Louis look anything but confident in himself, and it's weird to see another expression on his face. It doesn't quite fit, and George doesn't think he likes it being there.

"But you didn't do anything wrong," he whispers. "I'm the one who messed up; I ruined it."

"No, George." Harry sounds tired. George will nap with him. He's tired, too. "The fact that you think that means that it was us. Me and Louis, I mean, basically, not -- not you. I promise, George, you did everything right. You're really good. You're so good for us. You are."

George is caught between feeling fuzzy-happy because Harry's telling him he was good and feeling something else he can't describe, because Harry's saying that George didn't do anything wrong when he knows he did. It's all he's been able to think about for the last hour or so.

Louis and Jaymi break apart, but it's Jaymi who comes up to George and Harry. He levels Harry with one raised eyebrow, and Harry kisses George's hair again before letting him go. His legs hold him up better than he'd've expected, if he's honest, but he watches with huge, soft eyes as Harry walks back over to Louis and they fold into each other, Louis' hands cupped around Harry's ear so he can whisper to him.

Jaymi tucks his face down close to George's ear, too. "Are you alright?"

"Better," decides George, because that's at least true. He can breathe, and stand, and speak, so he's definitely better. "I don't really know what's going on," he admits. "Do you know what's going on?" He pauses. "Did -- we film Xtra already?"

"Yes, George, we've already filmed Xtra. We're all done until tomorrow." Jaymi squeezes George's shoulder lightly. "Do you remember what tomorrow is?"

George's stomach sinks. "The result. We didn't do as well as District 3, did we."

Jaymi shrugs. "We still have more fans. And we did better than a lot people. We'll be fine." He gives George a little grin and cuffs George's chin. "We've got your beautiful mug on our side." His voice turns soft. "Louis wants to take you home with them," he says bluntly. "I don't really want to let him because he's done enough harm for one day, but I can't make your choices for you, and you really should sort this out before tomorrow, anyway. So, would you like to go home with them or come back to the hotel with me and the lads?"

"I want to go with them," George says immediately, then halts. "Not that I don't -- I really appreciated the cuddle last night. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Jaymi looks, not angry, but a little resigned. "Any time you need one, alright?"

George smiles. "Really? I do love a cuddle. I'm a cuddlemosquito."

Jaymi rolls his eyes. "I can tell you're feeling better." He gives George a hug, tight around the neck. "But _talk to them_ , alright? _Before_ you do any mucking about."

"I like the mucking about part," George replies, but he can see Harry and Louis' faces, and he can already tell that there's no way there's going to be any mucking about until they've had words. It makes him feel equally nervous and another emotion that reminds him of relief.

"I know you do," Jaymi says. "But I also know... George, you need to be kinder to yourself. With the mucking about. I know you think you're being safe because you're clean and everything, but there's more to it than that. I need to know you're okay. We care about you."

"I know you do," George replies automatically. "And I am okay. Why do people keep asking me that?"

"Because you're really hard on yourself," Jaymi explains. He gives George a little headcuddle. "And you needn't be. You're lovely."

"George?" They look across the room and Louis is waiting very patiently with one hand out, like he's tempting a small animal with breadcrumbs. "Do you want to come with us tonight?"

"Yeah," responds George. There was never really going to be any other answer, he realizes. Even when he thought Louis never wanted to see him again, he still wanted to make it right, and make Louis like him. "I do."

Louis smiles at him, and George feels warm. "Good. We really want you to come."

"Can I, now?" George looks to Jaymi. "Are we doing anything else? We did Xtra, you said."

Jaymi shakes his head and claps George's shoulder. "Yeah, we did Xtra. Go on. But I'll be waiting tomorrow to collect you in the lobby, alright? So you have to come back ready to rock it."

"I will," George says, nodding. "I feel much better."

"Good, keep it that way." Jaymi looks over his shoulder and George can't see the look he gives Louis, but it must be a bit intimidating as Louis gives him a very serious look in return.

George trots off to Harry and Louis, and he _does_ feel better, but... it doesn't change that he knows he disappointed Louis. If he had done well, Louis would have said. He'd've tweeted that Union J smashed it, or at least texted George that he was good. He didn't. And George has to make that up to him.

He hasn't figured out how, yet, but he's going to. Louis didn't like his blowjob idea, clearly, but maybe he just didn't want them to be in public for it. George can understand that. He doesn't like his dick being out in public too much, either.

Jaymi said he had to talk to them about that, didn't he. Well, _Louis_ likes when George does that. Maybe that's what he should do.

He doesn't really know how to ask, though. You can't just _say_ 'd'you want me to get my cock out?' can you?

Harry probably could. That's probably why Louis likes Harry best. George doesn't want to replace Harry. George doesn't want to replace anyone. He just really wants people to like him. He wants Harry and Louis to like him, and he doesn't want to upset them, ever. He seems to be really bad at that, though, at least today.

"Should I bring anything?" he asks quietly. Last time his overnight bag had come in handy, but he doesn't know if they're going to be doing anything like that. It might just be talking this time. George doesn't like being so unsure of things.

Louis and Harry exchange a look before Harry smooths his big, warm hands over George's arms. 

"We actually... we bought you some things to keep at ours, if you wanted," Harry offers quietly. "Just a toothbrush and some pyjamas and things. But if you want to get your own, that's okay. D'you want your monkey suit?"

Probably not sex, then. He doesn't look sexy in the monkey onesie.

"No, that's alright." His monkey suit is very comfortable, but he doesn't want to take up any more time than he has to. He wants to just be at their house with them. He wants to know what's going on, and he'll sacrifice the comfort of his onesie if he has to. "Thanks for the toothbrush."

He chances a little glance over at Louis. Harry doesn't seem upset with him, so Harry is safe, but... he just wants so badly to have pleased Louis and he didn't and he doesn't know how to fix it and Louis hasn't said anything to him, really, and maybe they're going to bring him to their house and end things, and give him the toothbrush as a parting gift. He just doesn't know.

"Then I think we're ready to go." Louis isn't quite meeting his eyes no matter how hard George tries. "Did you want to say goodbye to anyone? Ella, maybe?"

George shrugs. "Don't know where she is. I just wanna -- be with you." What the hell. He'll offer. "I can blow you in the car if you want?"

Louis makes a sort of strangled noise. George can't tell if that's good or bad. "You don't have to blow me at _all_ , George, if you don't want to. Definitely not to -- apologize, or whatever you think you're doing it for."

George's brow knits. He _likes_ blowing Louis -- likes blowing people in general, actually -- but he would sort of be doing it to apologize. But he's not _sorry_ , exactly, he's just trying to do what he's told. He just likes to make people happy. And that's not bad, is it? He doesn't have to apologize for liking Louis and Harry to be happy.

"Come on," Harry coaxes, his arm curving warm and solid over George's shoulders. "We'll talk about it back at ours, okay? Nobody's blowing anybody in the car, anyway, that's dangerous."

A sudden thought crosses George's mind. "Did I -- I didn't tell anyone, I swear! I didn't say anything, and I was really careful in the TwitCam not to let on it was you calling, and... I didn't, you haven't been caught because of me, have you? I didn't say anything, I _swear_. I was really discreet when I went to get tested!"

"No, love, you haven't done anything wrong." Louis sounds a little helpless. It's strange. "You haven't done anything wrong at all, this is all on me. It's my fault."

George frowns.

Louis' allowed to have opinions.

All he did was tell the truth.

"Come on," Harry urges softly, and holds out his hand. George takes it and Harry laces their fingers together before gently kissing George's knuckles, and George feels like he might burst.

The walk through the building is a bit cumbersome, considering George feels unable to let go of Harry's hand the entire time. It's very warm and a bit damp with their hands pressed together, but George likes that. He likes how Harry makes him feel warm, and safe.

He says as much.

Harry smiles, but his eyes are distracted and a little sad, the green overtaking the black for a change. "I'm glad, George."

It's the first time George has felt grounded since he saw that tweet on his phone. "Don't let go?" he requests, and immediately feels silly.

Harry is perfect, and lifts his other hand to stroke gently over the side of George's face, cupping his jaw in his huge palm. "No, I won't."

George smiles and kisses the tip of Harry's thumb where it sits across his lips; when Harry doesn't react, he licks at it lightly, suggestively, humming at the taste of Harry's skin.

"No," Harry says gently, and moves his thumb. George frowns. "None of that right now."

"Okay," agrees George, even though he doesn't understand. He's not that full of himself, but usually when he offers sex to people, they accept it, and nobody's accepting his offers today. He just wants to blow somebody. That makes things better.

When they get out to the car park, Harry and Louis tell him to stand by the car while they talk for a minute, and he does. He's still in his show costume, he realizes belatedly. He probably smells sweaty, and that's why they keep saying no.

Who would want a blowjob from someone who smells like sweat and hairspray, after all? "Can I shower at yours, then?" he asks, folding his arms across his chest. The shirt he's wearing is too tight, and it doesn't stretch right over his elbows. It's uncomfortable.

"Of course," they say in one voice, and George smiles.

This time, it's Louis who drives, and Harry who comes up and rubs his hands up and down George's sides before they get in the car. 

Louis still doesn't want to be around him, George thinks sadly. Harry feels quite nice, though, warm and tall and broad. George doesn't usually notice how broad Harry is, but his back is massive and he encompasses George whenever he hugs him. He's quite good at being comforting, too. Although what George really wants is to know that Louis still likes him at all, it's nice enough to have Harry here, holding him and playing with his hair, finger-combing out the wafts of curls.

"They always make it more curly than it is," he mumbles, his head pressed against Harry's shoulder. Harry smells amazing. Harry always smells amazing, though. "I think they want to play up me looking like you."

Harry is quiet for a minute, and when he speaks, George can tell he's considered his words carefully. Although it seems like Harry usually does. He isn't a flippant person, really. 

"They don't _need_ to do that, though," he says. "Because you're pretty amazing as George, right? You don't have to compare yourself to me."

"I don't." George frowns a little. "It's everyone else that does. Not the worst person in the world to be compared to, though, is it?"

Harry smiles before kissing the side of George's head. "Nope. I'm quite pleased to be me." 

He kisses the side of George's head again, and then down over the side of his face and the crest of his cheekbone until he tips one light kiss to the corner of George's mouth. George turns, making a needy little sound, to catch Harry's lips with his own -- but Harry has already pulled away.

George tries not to sulk, but it's hard when you want to be kissing someone and they're not kissing you. He can't figure out why, either. Harry doesn't seem to be angry with him, at least, even if Louis is. Why won't Harry kiss him?

"Why won't you kiss me?" George asks in a small voice. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, no," Harry immediately reassures, his arm tightening around George's shoulders. "No, of course you didn't. You haven't done anything wrong at all."

"Then kiss me, please?" George asks. "You said that the next time I saw you would be fun, and it's the next time."

Harry smiles a little. "I did say that, didn't I?" He strokes along George's cheek with his knuckles. "I just want us to talk first, alright? We have a lot to talk about. And then if you still want me to kiss you, I'll kiss you all you like."

George pushes his face into Harry's neck and breathes, taking in the sweet-spicy soap smell of Harry's skin and the steady, constant thrumming of his pulse. "I always want to be kissed. And Louis won't do it anymore, will he? I like kissing _you_."

Harry's fingers spread long and spindly on George's back, holding him close and settling his chin on George's head. "Of course Louis will kiss you," he murmurs. "Shh, it's alright."

George tries to listen, because if Harry says it's alright, then it should be alright. But... they didn't want George to blow them, and they aren't kissing him, and George feels distinctly wrong-footed. Ever since he was fourteen and still fat, George knew that people liked him better if he blew them. Even Jaymi had let George blow him in Vegas, and he had an Olly, and now, Jaymi probably was his best friend in Union J.

Maybe Harry and Louis were going to be more like Jaymi and Olly. They didn't want or need a George anymore.

Harry's grip tightens a little, his voice suddenly in George's ear fierce and firm. "Hey, don't," he says. "Of course we still want you."

"Was I talking out loud again?" George asks. "I keep doing that tonight."

"No," Harry assures him, still holding him tightly. "I just understand what you're thinking."

"Jaymi said nobody can read my mind," George remembers. "So I need to tell them if I don't want something."

"Good," Harry says. "Jaymi sounds really smart."

"He's mostly bossy," George says, and smiles, and that makes Harry smile, too.

"The best people can be the bossiest," Harry says softly. He's probably talking about Louis, because he and Louis love each other. "You like him, though?"

George nods. "Yeah. I like him and I like JJ. Josh was nice to me today, too, but I still think I don't like him very much. He reminds me of the bullies."

"That's right, you were bullied, weren't you?" Harry asks. He's still rubbing George's back, and it feels really nice.

George nods again, shrugging. "Yeah, but I'm not anymore. 'Cause I'm skinny now." He pauses. "I'm not supposed to say that. I'm supposed to say that it's because everyone has grown up and matured and I've found things that make me happy."

"Have you found things that make you happy?" Harry sounds very sad, and George doesn't like that.

"I have my guitar," George explains, and nuzzles at Harry's throat. He chances some little kisses across the soft skin there, and Harry goes over all goosebumps and sighs softly. George lets the tip of his tongue trail a tiny circle over Harry's Adam's apple as he keeps kissing, sucking gently.

"You're very irresistible," Harry tells him, the vibrations of his throat against George's lips making him laugh a little.

"Good," George decides. "You don't have to resist me. I want to." He lets his hand rest over the front of Harry's jeans and feels out the thick line of Harry's cock, pushing up against the heat of his hand through the material. He drags the heel of his palm over the bulge, measuring out Harry's size. "I've never got to blow you before. Only Louis." He pauses. "Is that what we need to talk about? Are there things I can only do to Louis and not you, even after I've been tested?"

"No, that's not it." Harry shifts in his seat, his legs spreading a little. "Well, it is kind of. Remember what I said, about how we need to talk and then I'll kiss you?"

"You don't have to kiss me for me to take care of you," George wheedles, and deftly flicks open the first button on Harry's fly. "You can just use me to get off, 'cause I can tell you want to. You're so hard, Harry. You won't be able to focus on talking anyway."

Harry huffs out a laugh. "I've got a bit more self-control than you think I have." He sets his hand over George's and gently tangles their fingers. "I don't want to use you to get off. I don't want to use you at all; that's not what this is about."

George doesn't really know what to say, and his skin feels itchy and hot again. He flops back against the seat. "Can we open the window? I -- feel funny."

"Of course," Harry agrees, pressing the button for the window until it's rolled down about three-quarters of the way. "Is that alright?"

Closing his eyes, George tips his face towards the cool breeze streaming in through the window. "Yes, thank you."

Harry's hand is warm and anchoring as he rests it over George's knee.

"Tell me if you need anything else," Harry instructs. He squeezes George's leg once.

George thinks about saying _I need you to kiss me_ or _I need to blow you_ , but his heart isn't really in it. Harry doesn't want that, and George doesn't want to push anything that Harry doesn't want to do. That's not right. 

He sighs. And breathes.

Harry keeps his hand on George's leg the rest of the way home, the only sound in the car the wind coming in through the window. It's too quiet and George wants to ask if they can turn on the radio or something but he'd have to ask Louis, to do that, and Louis doesn't want to speak to him.

So he deals with the mostly silence and focuses on Harry's hand and the cool air on his face. He tries not to think.

It's surprisingly easy not to think around Harry and Louis. It's like Jaymi had said -- the biggest concern is really keeping them happy, not _thinking_.

George is startled when the car pulls to a stop. It usually seems to take longer to get back to theirs, but he supposes that when you spend that time concentrating on not concentrating, the time goes by faster.

Harry smiles at him a little sheepishly. "I circled the block a few times last week."

George nods. Last week, they wanted to spend more time with him. This week, they don't. 

It makes sense.

When George slides his hand down to take Harry's, he's half expecting to be rebuffed. Harry doesn't push him away, though, just squeezes George's hand and opens the door so that they can slide out.

Louis is already unlocking the door to their house by the time Harry and George are out of the car, and George looks at his feet. He really didn't think he'd done _this_ badly. Louis' barely deigned to look at him.

"Do you want anything to drink, or eat?" Harry asks, sliding his arm around George's waist and pressing warm fingers into his hip.

George shakes his head.

"Well, Louis will have tea anyway." Harry nuzzles behind George's ear and George feels a little like crying. "Are you sure you don't want anything? I'm always starving after shows."

George shrugs one shoulder. "Haven't thought about it."

"Think about it now," Harry instructs gently. "Are you hungry? Or thirsty?"

They're in the front hall of Harry's massive house now, the house he _doesn't_ technically share with Louis, George remembers. There's a light on in the kitchen and George can hear Louis bustling around.

"Whatever you're having is fine with me," he says. His stomach gives a massively loud rumble and he blushes, twisting his shirt in his fingers.

Harry breathes out in his ear. "You need to tell us what you need, love," he whispers to George. "Anything that you need, tell us and we can do that for you, but only if you say."

George shifts around and fiddles with his bracelets and the clasp of his big white watch. "I don't know. Maybe I'm hungry. I haven't eaten since breakfast. Too nervous for the show."

"Yeah, I always got the same way. We'll make you some toast, how about that? Easy on your tummy." Harry rubs George's stomach as he speaks, in light, soothing circles.

George hums and nods.

Harry smiles. "You're a lot better than me. I used to throw up before every time I sang. I ended up in hospital before my audition because I was so scared I started throwing up blood."

"That's awful," George exclaims with wide eyes. He's never seen that in any of the interviews he's watched. "You don't still do that, do you? It's better?"

Harry nods. "Yeah, it's better. Louis' helped a lot. Because I told him what I need, what helps me feel better and calm down."

"I get really nervous before I go on, but I've never thrown up, I don't think." George's brow furrows. "Not even at the first live show. I did feel really sick, though."

Harry kisses George's cheek. "I think everyone does." He pauses. "Are you going to take your shoes off, or do you not want?"

"I can," George agrees, crouching to unlace his shoes. When they're off, he wiggles his toes and feels a bit less cramped. In all the clothes they put on him, he just feels warm and crammed in and uncomfortable.

Harry kneels down and runs his fingers through George's hair. "Did you want to try on the pyjamas we got you or anything? Or are you okay?"

George hesitates. "Do you want me to?"

"I want to know if you want to," says Harry patiently. "I thought you might be too warm in all those clothes. If you'd rather stay in them, though, that's alright, too."

"I am warm," George admits. "These trousers are leather. They're ridiculous. And they're making my knees sweaty."

Harry smiles at him. "Well, can't have that, can we? Would you like me to show you where everything is?"

George nods, because he _still_ can't really find his way around Harry's cavernous, asymmetrical, supposedly-haunted house. And as much as he loves Halloween, he isn't really in the mood to meet a pirate ghost. Harry grasps George's hand again. It's nice that he keeps doing it, because every time it makes George's head go nice-fuzzy instead of bad-fuzzy.

Harry leads them up the stairs and through what seems like twelve corridors before they're back in the room that's becoming more and more familiar to George. Harry opens a drawer and digs through it for a moment before he finds what he's looking for and holds out a neatly folded set of pyjamas for George.

They're blue and stripey and Harry looks a little bashful. "Would you like me to leave while you...?" he asks.

George looks down. Maybe Dan hadn't been kidding that George needed the gym, or maybe he'd taken Ella's request to get fluffier too seriously and had too many biscuits or -- he shrugs. "I don't know."

"I just don't want you to be uncomfortable." Harry clears his throat. "But I don't want to leave you alone, either. Can you tell me what you want, please?"

"I want you to stay," George says right away. "But I don't understand -- why do you keep asking me to explain everything? You haven't before. I don't like telling you what to do, it feels weird."

Harry sighs and sits on edge of the bed. "It's not you telling me -- us -- what to do. It's about us knowing what you like and don't like, and working with those things. We need you to explain things because otherwise we don't understand when we've gone too far."

George blinks.

There's a knock on the door, and Louis pokes his head in. He doesn't look at George, instead going straight to Harry. "Is everyone alright?"

"Yeah," Harry says. "We were just going to come down and have some tea and toast."

Louis nods. "Anything else, too. We have it, or we can get it in."

George watches Harry nod and smile at Louis as he changes into the pyjamas. He has the absurd urge to cover his chest so Louis doesn't have to look at him.

"Are you all ready, then?" Harry asks him, pushing himself off the bed and taking a step close to George. He offers his hand again as though he's giving George the option to take it or not. George can't think of any reason he ever wouldn't.

George smiles and takes Harry's hand, and Harry kisses George's head before fixing the hems of the soft t-shirt. 

"You look much cozier now," he declares. "Did you want your tea and toast?"

George's stomach rumbles again, so he blushes and nods. "Yeah, I think so. Is there sugar for the tea?"

"Of course. Louis thinks you ruin tea with sugar, but I think Louis's a bit ridiculous." Harry tells him this like he's imparting a secret, all hushed and smiling.

George isn't as sure. "Is it alright with him if I take sugar?"

Harry's smile falls again, and he swallows before he nods. "Yeah, of course. Whatever you like, George."

When they get down to the bright kitchen, Louis' changed into soft trousers and an oversize jumper that George suspects may actually belong to Harry. There are three mugs of tea and an overflowing plate of toast on the table, and there's Louis hovering by the refrigerator looking oddly small and put out.

"Erm," Louis asks, fixing his fringe, "Harry, d'you think -- in here, at the table, or like... should we take things somewhere we can cuddle?"

George likes the sound of cuddling.

"I don't know whether he'll be able to focus if we're cuddling," Harry hedges. "But he's -- he really is in a bad way, I think. I'm not sure."

"I'm right here," says George, but there's no heat behind it. He doesn't know why they're just talking like he can't hear them. "And I'm fine. I'm fine, now."

"George," Louis says sharply, "Take your trousers off."

George immediately pushes the waistband down, even as he wonders why Louis' suddenly changed his mind and seems to want to see him and talk to him and -- well, probably have sex with him -- now.

"He's not fine," Louis tells Harry. "We have to talk."

"Yeah." Harry lets out a shaky breath, long and slow. "Yeah, we do. Okay, no cuddling. Here, though? George, pull your trousers back up, there's a good boy."

"Oh." Well, he did feel a little odd about doing it in the kitchen while there's hot things like kettles of tea about. Seemed unsanitary. "Should -- am I supposed to sit now?"

"You can sit if you want. You can stand if you want. I don't -- Lou?" Harry says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Louis just shakes his head and turns back to the refrigerator, digging around inside and coming up with pots of jam and a half-eaten jar of beans.

"Here, George, you do what you want to do," Harry says, pulling out his own chair and sitting in it. "I'm going to sit and have my tea. There's sugar in the cupboard over there by Louis."

George doesn't know what to do, is the thing. He wants to do whatever will make Harry and Louis happiest, but right now, it seems like he's just doing everything wrong. He'd done what Louis said but that only made them both upset and now he has no idea how to fix any of it.

"I don't need sugar," he says hesitantly. "If you don't want me to."

Louis' elbows hit the counter. He's burying his eyes in his hands. "I can't -- Harry, it's all -- it's gone to shit again, like Nick." He shoulders his way out of the kitchen and George just stands in the middle of the room, holding his insides in.

Harry lets out another one of those slow breaths, but it's barely audible over the blood rushing in George's ears.

"George," Harry says, slipping off his chair and moving until he's standing next to George. "George, look at me." He sounds a little scared, George thinks. He's not sure if he can ever move again, but he doesn't want Harry to hate him, too.

Harry smiles at him, though, and reaches out to run his hands over George's arms. "It's okay, I promise. Louis' mad at himself. That's it. He does that. He gets mad at himself. Why don't you sit down, if you want, and I'll make your tea with sugar, okay? Do you only want toast, or are you hungry enough to eat something else? D'you want a bacon sarnie or anything? I can make that. I'm pretty ace at cooking."

"I watched you cook," George remembers faintly. "You and Louis. He doesn't know how to whisk."

Harry laughs. "That's right, and he still hasn't learnt."

George is very hungry, but he thinks if he eats more than toast he might be sick. He's not sure if he's so hungry that he's nauseous or if he's just nauseous full stop, but either way, he probably shouldn't have anything but toast. "Just toast is fine if that's alright," he says softly.

"Of course it is," Harry says. "Especially since I'm the one who'd have to do the washing up." He winks at George, and George tries to smile.

Louis comes back into the kitchen. His eyelashes are sticking together and his fringe is damp, like he had to go splash water on his face.

"I'm sorry," says George immediately. He doesn't know what he's done to make Louis so upset with him today, but all he wants is to fix it, and if Louis doesn't want a blowjob, verbal apologies will have to work.

Louis shakes his head and then he's got his arms wrapped around George's shoulders, holding him close. " _I'm_ sorry that I didn't you how amazing you were tonight. You were _so good_ , George. I thought you'd just -- assume that, because... because you're always good. You were really great. I'm so sorry."

"I was good?" George asks into Louis's shoulder. Louis smells nice, and is warm, and feels smaller than Harry in George's arms. He doesn't ever want to let go, because if he does, Louis might not like him again, and all he wants is Louis liking him.

"You were _great_ ," Louis confirms. "And I should have told you that straight away."

"It's okay," George mumbles, because it is now. Everything's fantastic.

"No, it's not," Louis says sadly, and then he isn't hugging George anymore, and that's not okay at all. He sits in the chair beside George's, though, and he holds George's hand tightly. "You should be really, really angry with me."

"I'm not, though." George doesn't know how he's supposed to feel. He wants to do what Louis says but Louis is saying that he's supposed to be angry when he doesn't think he could ever be angry with Louis. "I'm not angry."

Louis looks distressed. "Harry, how... do we talk about this? Like from the proper beginning? I don't really know where to start, but holy _shit_ , we've done this wrong."

"I know," Harry says from behind George. He squeezes George's shoulders lightly and that feels quite nice. "From the very beginning, then? Do you think?"

Louis scrubs his hands over his face. "Yeah, okay. I need my tea."

Harry slides the mug of tea over to Louis, but he doesn't let go of George's hand. Harry kisses the tops of both Louis' and George's heads on his way around to a chair on George's other side, and George is quite pleased with the arrangement. He likes being between Harry and Louis.

"George," Louis asks softly. Seriously. "Have you -- do you even know what's... do you even know what we're doing here? What we've been doing with you?"

"I'm guessing the answer's going to be something other than sex," George says quietly. He wraps his hands around the remaining cup of tea, still a bit warm between his palms. "Is it? I thought -- sex, is what I thought."

"I mean, yeah, that's where it started," Louis agrees, "But I feel like, we -- Harry and I, and from what Jaymi telling me, too -- I feel like it's gone somewhere else, yeah."

George swallows. That sounds right. It's not just sex, for him, not anymore, but he'd thought that was just him being too invested and liking them more than he should. He doesn't just think of it as sex now because he _likes_ Harry and Louis, and he likes spending time with them even when they're not fooling around. "I guess."

This somehow doesn't strike him as how they'd ask him if he wants to be their boyfriend, but maybe they're just overly serious. Maybe there's paperwork to sign, given that they're so famous.

"Harry did tell you that my tests were clean, right?" he tries. "Is that what this is about?"

Louis's mouth twitches a little. "He did tell me, yeah. That's not what this is about, though. This is something we really should've talked to you about before now. Like, probably before last week, too."

"Oh." George frowns and tries to think of anything he could've done wrong last week, that would require this sort of serious talk. The tests are the only thing he can think of.

Then his eyes go round. "Did I hurt Harry?" He looks over at Harry and feels a little nauseous again. "Did I hurt you? You said -- you said you were okay?" His mind his spinning. "Or, that _was_ Ella in the parking garage, and she hasn't said anything to anyone. She was just joking. Or -- what's happened?"

"Shh," Harry hushes, gathering George into his arms as well as he can when they're still sitting. "Shh, you didn't hurt me at all, don't worry about that. If you trust Ella, so do we. If you say she won't tell anyone, we believe that she won't."

"I didn't tell anyone either," George reminds them. "Jaymi just guessed. He said you said something dirty when he answered my mobile 'cause you thought it was me, and then he made me talk to him about how my head gets fuzzy."

"Did he?" says Louis. "And what did you say? When he asked you about your head getting fuzzy, what did you tell him? We're not angry you talked to him about it," he adds. "Actually, it's good you did, or we might not have had this conversation yet."

George shrugs. "I told him it was nice. I didn't know it happened to other people, though. It hasn't happened to me before -- before that first night with you guys." He bites his lip and wonders whether he's said too much.

"Do you ever think about why that might be?" Harry ventures. "What might have been different about being with us that you'd never done before? We thought you knew, or we never would've, well." He cuts himself off. "What was different to you?"

 _You were really kind to me_.

George shakes his head and looks down at the piece of toast he's been systematically shredding on the plate.

Louis nudges him. "You should eat," he says softly. "Can you eat and talk?"

George nods and stuffs toast in his mouth. "Yeff."

Harry shakes his head. "He's like Niall." Then he tilts his head. "George... Jaymi said that he asked you if you'd ever been a submissive before. What did you tell him?"

George frowns and thinks back to that conversation with Jaymi, sleepy and close in the dark. "I didn't know what he was talking about. I think I just laughed."

"Oh, god." Louis rubs his hands over his face again.

"Shut up, Lou, it'll be fine," Harry says, and then he rests his hand over George's wrist. "Do... you understand what BDSM is?"

George's eyes go wide and he laughs, embarrassed, around the toast. "Isn't that like -- that's like, weird, isn't it? Like that book, that ladies' book. With whips and chains and that. That's _weird_."

Louis lets out a sigh. "It's not just that. That's just what people think it is, when they haven't really got a clue. It's not all Rihanna songs and bad dominatrix porn."

George feels distinctly itchy again. Maybe he's allergic to toast now. "I don't... understand what this has to do with why you're upset with me.”

"We're not upset with you," says Harry. "Neither of us is upset with you at all. We're upset that we assumed things that weren't necessarily true, and we didn't explain things to you like we should have."

"Okay," George says slowly. "I still don't understand what bad dominatrix porn has to do with me. I'm not -- leather makes my knees sweaty?"

Louis's laugh is a bit creaky. "The point is that it's not about leather and whips and handcuffs all the time. Sometimes it's just about the dominance and submission. Do you understand what that means?"

"Well, yeah, I know words. That's like, one person being less than the other. Are you asking if I think I'm less than you?"

"That's not what it means at all," Harry says, his voice a little sharp. "Nobody's less than anybody. Submission isn't about being less than someone, it's just about ceding control to someone. Letting them take care of you."

And then George understands -- at least a little. "And Jaymi -- he thinks that's what we're doing?"

As George watches, Harry and Louis exchange a glance. When Harry speaks again, his voice is much softer. "Jaymi thinks that's what we're doing, yeah. Because that _is_ what we're doing. Basically."

George tries to swallow his toast and splutters a little, so he drinks tea too quickly and burns his tongue. "Ow." Louis hands George a napkin and he mops up his blushing face.

Harry rubs George's back, patting him lightly as he coughs. "I didn't know how else to say it," he tells Louis apologetically. "Too blunt?"

"At least it's out there now," Louis replies. "Are you alright, love?" he asks George, his own hand settling low on George's back.

"I'm fine," George croaks. "Are you saying you're -- gonna hit me with stuff? I don't -- what does that have to do with being upset with me _now_?" George's eyes go round again. "Did I do so badly you have to _whip_ me?"

"No, no, no, it's nothing like that," Louis rushes to tell him. "I keep telling you, we're not angry with you. You didn't do anything wrong, this is us being stupid, not you. Nobody's going to hit you or do anything you don't want."

"This isn't working," Harry sighs. "Look, we should start at _our_ beginning, Lou. Maybe that will help more."

"Right," Louis says, and he takes a gulp of tea to fortify himself. "Look, right, so Harry and I always tell people that we met in the loo at bootcamp, and that's true, but it wasn't like -- I went in at night and he was in there and he asked if he could blow me because it calms him down to blow people, and I said yes, and then it sort of became a thing."

George feels like his eyes might fall out of his head. "Oh, so, not quite what you said in your book," he manages in a faint voice. "Bit less PG rated."

"Right," Louis confirms. He's talking quickly, and he's not quite looking at George, but at least he's speaking to him now. "So then when we got through to the House, there was this other guy, Aiden. Harry?"

When Harry takes over, George switches to looking at him. Harry's cheeks are a bit flushed, but he's looking back at George. "We both really liked Aiden, and Aiden really liked us, so it all just sort of. Made sense? For us to have him join us, sometimes. A lot of the time."

"Okay?" George asks. Are they saying that they're leaving him for Aiden Grimshaw, or that he _is_ the new Aiden Grimshaw? 

"Right." Harry coughs. "So basically, Aiden -- understood a little better. Why, like. Giving head calmed me down. And so he kind of jumped in and was basically, erm, basically sort of taught us how to be -- be us?"

"Here, maybe you can relate to this a bit," says Louis. "When Harry sucks people off, it makes his head go a bit fuzzy, like he's thinking really slowly, or like he doesn't need to think anymore at all. That's why he likes doing it so much. Because it makes him feel good to make people feel good."

George looks over at Harry and squeezes his hand. "Really?"

"Yeah," Harry confirms. "But for Louis, it's not that way. It's not that way for a lot of people."

"It's that way for me," George says, frowning a little. "Is it, like, is it a bad thing? I just like making people feel good, and I'm good at giving head."

"Yeah, you are," Louis praises him, and kisses George's shoulder through the soft cotton of his t-shirt. "Has it always been that way for you? Every time you do it, it makes you feel -- fuzzy?"

"No, not always. Just with, er. Just with you." George closes his eyes. "I always like doing it, but I never go floaty except with you."

Harry smiles encouragingly at him and starts playing with George's hair again. "What's different with us? What do you think made it feel different?"

"You already like me." George hums softly, his eyebrows pulling together. "Uh. I don't know."

"Can you tell me about when you were in Vegas?" Harry asks very gently. "With your band?"

"About the song we did?" George swallows. He knows what Harry wants him to talk about, but he doesn't feel like talking about it. It's not that he's ashamed, he just doesn't want to right now. His stomach still feels a bit dodgy.

"No, love," Harry murmurs. "We already watched that. And you were _so_ good. You're really good with your guitar." He smiles encouragingly and George has to smile back. "Why do you think it was different when you had sex with them than with us?"

"I don't know." It's a stupid question, George thinks. There was so much difference. "I guess because I -- I don't know. With them it was only one at a time?"

"That's kind of good to know, actually," Louis mutters. "Harry, I don't know how to do this part. You were different than this."

"George." Harry slips off his chair and kneels in front of George, his cheek rested against George's knee. "When we went up to you in the club, and we asked you to dance, and we asked you to sleep with us, and we invited you back here... how was that different from Vegas?"

"I offered," George mutters before clearing his throat. "I, I offered, with them. None of them came on to me or anything. It was my idea, I asked."

"Good," Harry praises, and he kisses George's knee. "So when you're with us, how do you feel? Not physically," he adds quickly.

George smiles faintly, letting one of his hands drift into Harry's hair. Harry has such nice hair, always soft and curling between his fingers. "I feel warm, and sometimes I go all fuzzy, but sometimes I don't. Happy," he adds.

Harry smiles at him and kisses his knee again. "I'm glad you're happy. When I'm with Louis, and back -- back we had Aiden, too, I was really happy, but I also felt like... I didn't need to hold myself in? Like, basically, I didn't _have_ to be in control of myself like usual. Because I'm really hard on myself usually. And it's nice to let that go sometimes. Do you feel that way?"

"Yeah," George breathes, his stomach fluttering. "Yeah, that's exactly what it's like. Just like that. It's nice to let my head be empty for once."

"So if you're not in control of you when your head's fuzzy, then who is?" Harry asks, and his green eyes are so big and so pretty where he's looking up at George.

George has to take in a deep breath and let it out before he can answer. "I guess -- I guess, you are," he finally says, the realization like a siren going off in his head. "You and Louis are." He sucks in a deep breath. "I still don't want you to hit me," he says in a rush, "And leather really does make me sweaty."

Harry laughs a little. "Nobody's going to hit you, and you don't have to wear leather, even if you do look amazing in it. Neither of us is going to do anything you don't want to do."

"But that's -- isn't that what you're saying?" George says warily. He pushes away the toast. "I've given you control over me, and you can -- you're gonna use it now? Is that why what I was wrong? Because you told me to do something and then I didn't?"

"Nothing you did was wrong!" says Louis from behind George's seat. "We were wrong. We didn't establish your limits, just assumed you'd tell us if we did anything you didn't like. And now it's all this."

"You didn't do anything wrong," George mumbles. "I don't know why I'm such a basketcase lately around you. I just -- I really like being here because, well I like cuddles and you're kind to me and then I have to go back to the hotel and Josh is a dick and I can't sing harmonies like, like, like Greg and Micky and Dan can, and I can't dance at all. Brian despairs of me," he says glumly. "So I just think all week about how -- it was nice when I was here." He looks down at the kitchen table.

Louis sighs, then, and there's a screech as he scoots his chair across the floor. He settles his chin on George's shoulder and sighs again. "You're not being a basketcase. We like you being here just as much as you like being here. It's just, it's okay for you to say if you're uncomfortable with something. If I make you upset, or if Harry makes you upset, you need to tell us."

George shakes his head. "I don't like to complain."

Louis lightly bites his shoulder. "It's not complaining. Look, earlier, when you thought you might have hurt Harry, and we might have been upset about that, would that have been complaining? If you had hurt him, and he told you that you'd hurt him, that wouldn't be complaining, would it?"

"No," George admits quietly. "That's different, though."

"How's it different?" Harry again, all pretty eyes and hair and cheekbones from the floor. "Why's it alright for me to hurt you but not for you to hurt me?"

"Because you stopped?" George offers. "That first time, when Louis noticed you were hurting me... you stopped. You noticed and you stopped."

"Right, I did." Harry gives him a smile. "Which is why you need to say, when you're being hurt, or when you're not alright with something. Because I'll stop when you tell me to."

For some reason, this makes George feel a little like he might cry, and _not_ having cried yet is his only personal salvation in this entire mortifying night, and he really, really doesn't want to cry now. 

"But isn't that what you're asking for?" he asks, and it comes out sharper than he meant around the lump in his throat. "You're asking for permission to hurt me?"

"No, not at all." Louis kisses the back of his neck. "Not unless that's what you want, like when you asked me to hold you down. We don't want to hurt you. We just want to help you let go a little, when you need it."

George frowns and looks at Louis from beneath his fringe. "What do _you_ get out of it, then? Besides like. Sex."

Louis darts in quickly and presses his lips to the corner of George's mouth. "I get to make my boys happy," he whispers. "Just because I don't go out of my head doesn't mean it's not nice."

George flushes a little bit. "I wasn't happy tonight, though. I was really, really -- I never want to feel like that again. It was worse than when they broke my wrist."

Louis nods, his face falling a bit. "That was my fault. I didn't think about how you'd take that. I didn't think at all, really, and it was stupid of me. I'm supposed to take care of you, and I didn't do that. I'm sorry," he says. George gets the impression it's not something he says a lot.

"But I wasn't with you then," George says haltingly. "I'm not your responsibility or anything. I should be able to handle myself. I used to be. Until like three weeks ago, even! I really swear I was."

"You are my responsibility, though. When I tell you to do things, you do them. When I text you to say to make me proud, what did you do?"

"I tried to make you proud," George admits. "But I would have tried my best on the show anyway."

"But how was this week so much worse than the first show?" Harry asks gently. "Even though you performed so much better and got better comments?"

"It was better, it was fantastic, at first," says George. "I thought I did make you proud, and then... oh." He bows his head. "And then, I thought I didn't, and I disappointed you."

"Why was that such a problem for you?" Louis asks. "Because let me tell you, I disappoint people all the time. It sucks for a bit, but... explain it to me."

"You told me to make you proud, and I didn't. They did better than me." George wants to curl up a little from embarrassment and never talk about this again, but he doesn't think they'd let him. "You didn't tell me I did well."

"Right, I understand that," Louis murmurs, "And I'm so sorry that made you feel so bad. I won't do it again. But," he seems to search for words, "If you don't tell us what you need and what you don't like, then we're just going to keep disappointing each other."

"Like for me," Harry offers, and scoots up a little to rest his chin on George's thigh, "I need for him to tell me what I could do better when I don't do well. I care about that more than I like getting praise. I get that from our fans all the time. I need for Louis to be honest, and I go -- the bad place, when I feel like no one's telling me the truth about myself."

"That makes sense," George says. He pets Harry's curls a little more. "I just don't want to make you unhappy. I don't want you to get sick of me, or think I'm asking for too much, and I know I'm just extra. I still don't want you to not want me anymore." Is he making any sense? He feels like he's just talking himself in circles.

"Why wouldn't we want you?" Harry whispers. "How could anything that happens on the show affect whether we want you here? We don't have anything to do with the show."

"But you told me to do something and I didn't." George leans back to look at Louis again. "Someone else did better than me."

"So what?" Louis asks. "And I didn't -- I didn't mean _make me proud or else_ , George. I just meant... no matter how you do, I'm gonna be proud of you."

"Oh." George swallows past the lump in his throat. His eyes are burning again. "I didn't know that. I just thought I let you down."

Harry wraps his arms around George's waist and cuddles his head close into George's lap. "We should have made sure you knew how special you are even when you're not here." He sighs.

"We sort of don't do that very well, we have a bit of a history." Louis's voice is low in George's ear. "It's hard, when you're not with the other person all the time. After X Factor, and the tour, we were still with each other all the time but we never saw Aiden."

George fiddles with the tag sticking out of the back of Harry's t-shirt neck. "Oh."

"See, with Harry, it's really easy for me to give him a cuddle every day and make sure he's alright the next day after -- after we do a scene, is what's called, when his head gets fuzzy like that. But we didn't do that with you. That's my fault."

"It's not your fault I've always got to leave," George mutters. "It's like, scheduling's fault. Or Louis Walsh's fault."

"Everything is Louis Walsh's fault," Harry and Louis say in one voice, and George has to smirk.

"We're going to take care of you, though," says Louis firmly, nuzzling into the crook of George's neck. "As much as we can. I don't want you to feel like you felt today, alright? Scared the shit out of me when I saw how you looked during Xtra," he confesses. "Like you didn't even know where you were."

"I didn't actually know we filmed Xtra," George admits. "Until later. Jaymi told me."

Louis curses under his breath, giving George a firm squeeze from behind. "I'm not going to let that happen again. I'll make sure you're okay."

Harry squeezes George's knee. "I think we need to establish some things," he says, levering himself back up and into his chair. "You can tell us what you're comfortable with, and what you don't like so much."

George shrugs. "I'm not -- I'm not super particular. I don't really know what you want me to say. I don't like being hurt."

"Okay," Harry encourages. "That's good. But... okay, that first night, yeah? When you were too sensitive and we kept going anyway to make you come again, was that a bad hurt or a good hurt?"

"Good hurt," George answers. He'd liked that, even though it had been a little painful at the time. He's always liked being pushed to his limits. "I didn't mind that."

"Good," Louis says. "Good, okay. That's a good start. And you liked being held down, right? So... what do you think of, like... Harry likes being tied up?"

"I've never been, before." George shrugs. "It could be nice. I like bruises?" he adds. "Having something to feel, afterwards. A reminder."

Louis nods. "Okay. You have to be careful with that, actually, especially since people are always looking at you, but okay."

"I don't want you to hit me, though," George adds, and he knows he sounds a little desperate. "I _really_ don't like being hit."

"Okay," Louis says soothingly. "Okay, we won't hit you, not ever, alright? We'll never hit you. We know now that you don't like that."

"I'm sorry, I just -- used to get hit a lot," George mumbles, and he keeps playing determinedly with Harry's hair where his head lies in George's lap. "And I don't -- " he takes a deep breath. "Jaymi said I had to tell you that I don't like... I don't like feeling humiliated. Like when, when, when you keep getting my dick out when we're in public, it makes me feel anxious."

"We won't do that anymore, then," says Louis. He strokes his knuckles over the back of George's neck. "When we're in public, your dick can stay inside your trousers. I'm sorry I did that without asking you."

"It's okay," George demurs.

"No," Harry says, and touches George's chin with the tips of two fingers. "It's not okay when we do things you don't like. Not to your mind and not to your body, either. It's not okay. Let us be sorry."

George still thinks it's okay, after all, it's not like they knew. He nods anyway, though, and mutters, "Alright."

"Is there anything else we've done that you didn't like, or that made you uncomfortable?" Louis asks. He sounds very patient, and he's still rubbing George's neck.

George drums his fingers on the kitchen table. "I don't think so. I just... I really like to feel wanted and I don't like to be hurt or feel anxious. I'm not, I still don't feel like -- I'm not like a weird person who wants to be _dominated_ or whatever. I'm normal. I like normal things."

"Am I weird, then?" Harry asks softly. "D'you think Louis and I are weird?"

"That's not what I meant," George groans. He feels like everything he's saying is coming out all wrong. "I don't think you're weird, I mean, I do a little because I've never met anyone like you, but I don't think you're weird in a sex way."

He swallows. "Not that much. Anyway." He fidgets a little. "Can I just have sex with you now? I'm not freaking out anymore."

"Mm. Maybe not tonight," Louis murmurs. He's peering over George's shoulder to look at Harry. "Harry and I were thinking you might like to -- watch, actually? To see what we're talking about?"

George's nose wrinkles. "What if I get kicked off tomorrow and then never see you again? I don't want the last night I get to spend with you to -- just be watching."

"I did tell you how amazing you were, didn't I?" Louis kisses George's cheek. "You're not getting kicked off tomorrow. And if you'd like, after you don't get kicked off, we can bring you back here again to celebrate."

George sighs and feels a little more -- righted, after how utterly _wrong_ he's felt all night. "I got tested and I'm clean," he reminds them. They laugh and Louis kisses George's cheek. Still, he pauses. "What if I _do_ get kicked off?"

"You won't," Harry insists. "If you did -- which isn't going to happen -- we'd just bring you over to give you 'sorry-you-lost-the-X-Factor' sex."

"It's really good," Louis says. "We can say so from experience. We are X Factor losers, after all."

"I always forget that," George replies. "I think everyone does, cause you're basically the biggest thing out of the X Factor, ever. I don't even remember who won your year."

"Oh, it's the guy Harry told to buy a lot of cats," Louis says, and stands. He stretches his arms over his head and a strip of bare, tan skin peeks out between the hem of his shirt and the waistline of his soft trousers.

Really, George doesn't have all the willpower in the world. "I still really want to suck you off, though," he tells Louis, licking his lips. "Like, loads."

Louis bends down and kisses the top of George's head. "Tomorrow, you can. Sometimes, I'm the one who needs to draw a line and say when I'm not comfortable with something. And I'm not comfortable letting you do that after seeing how upset you were earlier. D'you understand that?"

George tucks his lips into his mouth and nods. He does understand, he's just a bit disappointed, still. He'd been hopeful this day could end with a cock in his mouth. "Can I still kiss you?" he ventures hopefully.

"Yeah," Louis murmurs. "Of course you can."

It's easy enough to curl a hand behind Louis's neck and pull him in, then, and Louis doesn't shy away. George has to close his eyes and breathe in quickly through his nose when their lips touch, even though it's a gentle kiss.

Louis pulls back all too soon for George's taste. "Did you want to talk about anything else before we all go upstairs?"

George bites his lip against an urge to say too many things, to ask whether they still talk to Aiden, if they plan on keeping him around even though they won't be in the same place forever, what Louis meant when he said George was like Nick -- but he doesn't think it's the time for any of those questions.

"No, I'd like to go upstairs now," he says, carding fingers through Harry's hair one more time.

Louis nods. "Okay. Why don't you help Harry clear up a bit and give me a minute to get myself set?"

George looks at his plate with the cold, sad remnants of his shredded toast and nods, slipping off his seat when Harry moves to let him up.

Louis moves to go upstairs and Harry stands, gathering up the plates and carrying them to the sink.

"What -- is he doing up there?" George asks, a little nervous. He's never even liked... what they're talking about, he's never even liked that in porn, and now he's about to get a live show. It'll be better because it's Harry and Louis, but he isn't really sure that he can handle it. "What's he getting set?"

Maybe Harry can hear the nerves in George's voice, because he looks over his shoulder and gives him a reassuring smile. "Nothing really kinky, promise. He just has his rituals he goes through before we play. It gets his head ready, basically."

George focuses on the dish he's drying. "Have... you ever felt like I did today?"

"The drop, you mean?" Harry's voice becomes quieter as he nudges his hip against George's. "Yeah, I have. It's not very fun, is it?"

George shakes his head. "Does that happen a lot? 'Cause I don't think I could get used to it. And, erm," he swallows. "If I don't... want to do this, do the -- the -- "

"BDSM," Harry supplies helpfully, smiling a little self-indulgently.

"Yeah, that. If I don't want to do that... are you two gonna get rid of me?"

"No." Harry frowns, handing George the last cup to dry and turning off the water. "No, of course not. We only want to do with you what you're comfortable with, and you seemed to like it. But if you really don't want to, we won't make you."

"Earlier, that was the worst I've ever felt," mutters George. He doesn't want to stop doing this, he really doesn't, but he can't have a breakdown every time Louis doesn't compliment him.

"Yeah, but that... it wasn't your fault, and I don't think it'll happen again just from that. Basically there's bad stress from the show, too, that probably made it worse?" Harry turns and dries his hands on a tea towel, then draws George in closer, holding him by the waist. "I've only had that happen to me three times in the last two and a quarter years. And I stress _a lot_."

"But what if it happens before a show or something?" George lets himself rest against Harry, his cheek pressed to his shoulder. "I don't want to ruin our chances, the others would never forgive me. They already think I care more about sex than about the band."

"It's not about _sex_ ," Harry says, and rubs George's back. "It's about feeling secure. Louis -- was wrong, earlier, he made you feel like you aren't secure anymore. And that was his fault, not yours, and now he knows. He won't do that to you again, and even if he tweets about someone else... we want you, and you're safe, and that isn't going to change."

It's sort of everything George needs to hear. "I like feeling safe," he murmurs, nuzzling up against Harry's neck. "You're right, earlier, it was like I wasn't, anymore. Like I was falling and nobody could catch me."

Harry kisses the top of George's head and folds his arms all the way around George's shoulders. "We should have talked to you sooner. That needn't have happened. I'm sorry."

"It's alright," says George before he remembers that apparently, they don't like it when he says that. "It's alright now?" he tries instead. "I forgive you?"

Harry sighs and just keeps holding George close. "I'm glad. It'd be easy for you not to. One of the times I dropped, it -- was kind of, it was down to someone else, and... Louis' never forgiven them."

George has his suspicions as to who that might be, but asking about it now seems a bit tacky. "I don't want that to happen again," he finally says. "But I don't want to stop doing this. It makes me feel nice, when it's not making me feel the worst I've ever felt."

Harry _beams_ at him. "Okay. Okay, cool. Erm... just before we go upstairs, if, when you're watching, if you really need us to stop 'cause you're feeling bad-fuzzy again, just say ‘red.’ Otherwise I don't think I'll hear you and I -- can't promise Louis will listen?"

George swallows nervously. "This was a lot easier when it was just sex," he mumbles before steeling himself and giving Harry a nod. "Okay, I can do that. I've never watched you two together, so this should be fun, right? Like real life porn."

Harry laughs, his head falling back; a booming bark of a laugh that makes George giggle. 

"Brilliant!" Harry cheers. "I finally get to live up to my tabloid reputation as a secret pornstar!"

George covers his face and shakes his head.

Harry leans in and sneaks a kiss to George's cheek where his hands aren't in the way. "Just remember that you don't have to do any of the things I do, and we're not gonna make you, and everything I _do_ , it's something I've told Louis I like. Everything is okay. Louis is in control, even though he was an idiot earlier."

"I won't swoop in to save you or anything, then," George says. "Am I -- I'm staying here tonight, right?" he says uncertainly. He'd assumed, and the pyjamas imply that he's not going anywhere, but he really doesn't think he wants to be away from Harry or Louis right now.

"Yes, yes, yes, of course," Harry says, and gives George a little shimmying squeeze. "You're going to get all the cuddles and talking and affection we should have given you all along. And you'll probably have to cuddle me, too, if that's okay."

A laugh bubbles out of George. "Like that ever wouldn't be okay," he says as he squeezes Harry back. "Alright, then. Are we ready? Is _he_ ready?"

Harry tilts his head. "Probably, yeah. Erm, come on then. Can you -- are you okay not talking for a few minutes while _I_ get ready?"

George nods, his eyes huge. Harry leans in and kisses George's mouth once very softly, then unwinds his arms and catches George's hand to lead him upstairs.

Once they get to Harry- and Louis' bedroom, Harry goes right in, but George hovers at the doorway. He's nervous, if he's honest. He's pretty much expecting to open the door and see their huge bed replaced by a -- gallows, or whatever it's called, a whipping post and a stretching rack and Louis dressed like he should be in Pulp Fiction or something. 

But he does go in. And nothing really looks different; the blankets are stripped off the bed, but the pillow's still there. Louis' nowhere to be seen; Harry is silently pulling his jumper and shirt off in the middle of the room.

George opens his mouth to say something, then closes it just as fast. Harry said not to talk, and he doesn't want to do something that'll send him all -- bad-fuzzy. George would never want to inflict that on anyone else. He doesn't really know where he's supposed to be, though, so he just lingers inside the doorway and waits.

George slips into the room and edges his way toward the windowsill, where he can sit without being in their way. He doesn't want to be in the way.

He watches Harry carefully, though. Harry doesn't look nervous at all as he pushes down his trousers and his pants go with them. He isn't hard, but he's _still_ big, and he doesn't look embarrassed that George is just staring at his limp cock.

Maybe, George wonders, he doesn't really notice that George is _there_. He doesn't know if that's better or worse. He really hopes that he can do this. He's never done anything like this, any of it. He's never watched two other people have sex in front of him and he's never watched them have _kinky_ sex in front of him, and he's never really wanted to.

Now, though, he does want to, even if he's nervous about it. He's curious about what it all means and how it works, and he just hopes he can watch without having another fit. He's already ruined his chances of having sex today; best not do that to anybody else.

Harry folds his clothes and sets his bracelet and his watch atop the pile of fabric. Then he kneels, and George thinks that if he did it himself he'd look silly, but Harry just seems elegant. The lines of his body all work together.

There's a long moment where Harry doesn't move long past when George would have started to fidget. He's not good at staying still for long periods of time. He doesn't think Harry is, either, though, from what he can remember. Maybe Louis's trained him to stay still. Maybe they'll train George to stay still.

That might help him in interviews, George thinks faintly. He's always fiddling around and it drives JJ nuts.

He's sort of fiddling around now, because it's weird to sit and watch Harry kneel, naked, and neither of them are hard, and this isn't really all that sexy at all. But Harry did say it wasn't all about sex, didn't he?

Maybe he should ask.

Probably not now, though. It feels wrong to talk now, even though George is dying to break the silence that's settled in the room. He's not good at silence, either.

He wonders if this is a part of it, for Louis, making Harry wait. It's certainly building the anticipation.

There's a door near the corner of the room that George has never really paid attention to, probably a bathroom. His eyes are drawn to it when it opens, and Louis steps through.

George was still sort of expecting -- leather and metal fastenings and straps crossed across Louis's chest, and he's relieved that there's nothing like that. Instead, like Harry, Louis' just naked. And he's beautiful. George knows, really, that both he and Harry are taller than Louis -- that Louis is actually sort of a little guy -- but he doesn't look like that at all right now. His lines all work, too, and he's compact and lovely and golden. He looks tall. 

What Louis has onstage, he has in this room, George thinks. He commands presence.

Louis doesn't say anything at first, just walking around the room in carefully measured footsteps. He doesn't look at George. He doesn't look at Harry. He just strides from one side of the room to the other and then back again.

George watches him, a little on edge, wondering what Louis is going to do. He really -- he doesn't want to watch Harry get hurt, even though Harry told him that everything they did was okay with him and Louis said that it wasn't all about hitting and whipping and such.

Louis just looks... powerful. It isn't a word he'd've associated with Louis Tomlinson before now.

"Stand," Louis says softly. If the room wasn't so quiet, there's no way George would have heard him at all, with how quietly he's speaking. His voice sounds different as well, though that might just be in George's head. Louis's voice is a little lower, a little more raspy than it usually is.

Harry stands, but doesn't look up. Louis still seems bigger than him, like if he wanted, he could throw Harry around pretty easily. George chews on his thumbnail, staring. 

Harry's hands are clasped behind his back, long fingers knit together, but Louis is moving freely, looking Harry up and down as he circles him. Louis looks a bit like a wild animal with the way his muscles move, and the sharp juts of his collarbones and shoulder blades. He doesn't look dangerous, exactly, just like he could be. If he wanted to be.

George fidgets a little. He doesn't know -- anything, really. He doesn't understand why they aren't touching, and he doesn't know whether he _likes_ that Louis can look dangerous. He's _Louis_ , for fuck's sake.

Louis touches Harry then, and it makes George suck in a breath. He's resting two fingertips against a black tattoo on Harry's side. 

"Here?"

Harry doesn't look up. "Birdcage."

"For?"

"You."

Louis nods and doesn't say anything, circling Harry again. "Arms up."

Harry stretches his arms above his head, the backs of his hands pressing lightly together. He looks so long like that, a long line of pale limbs and his mop of hair. He looks beautiful. George doesn't think he'd be able to stop from licking him now, if he were Louis.

Louis doesn't lick him, though. George's eyes are drawn back to him, even though Harry is standing there looking as gorgeous as anybody's ever looked. There's something about Louis right now, something that makes it hard for George to look away from him for any significant period of time. He's not sure what it is, but he'll go along with it. It's not like looking at Louis is a chore.

Louis looks Harry over, and his eyes are hot. George has no idea how Harry isn't getting hard, because -- in his experience, when Louis looks at you like that, all you can _think_ about is how good you're going to get fucked. Even when you're not thinking, it just happens, it just takes over. 

Louis gives Harry a tiny smile as his hands trace over the long lines of tattoos on the underside of Harry's arm. "You got more. Are they mine?"

"Yes," Harry answers quietly, instantly. "All of them. Everything is yours."

George has no doubt about that. There's such a weight to Harry's words, such a calm acknowledgement. George honestly believes that everything Harry has, everything he is, belongs to Louis, in that moment.

And he feels better.

"Good." Louis praises. "Kneel, Harry. Facing me."

Harry swallows and kneels again, and Louis runs his fingers through Harry's hair, scratching a bit at his scalp. Harry makes a low, happy sound, his hands clasped in front of him now. He doesn't move up into the pressure of Louis's hand, even though it's obvious to George how much he wants to.

Louis keeps one hand smoothing through Harry's hair, pushing it back and away from Harry's eyes. George can see that Harry's pupils are huge and glittering where he's staring up at Louis, and his face is so open.

Louis' other hand moves, and that's when George notices that unlike Harry, Louis is hard. Really hard. 

Harry keeps looking up at Louis' face even as Louis lets the head of his cock tap against Harry's lips.

"Green," Harry murmurs.

"Good boy," Louis replies. That must be the colors thing Harry was talking about earlier. Green means go, so that's probably a good thing, here. Harry certainly looks relaxed, and George imagines if he was yellow or red or whatever he'd be all tensed up, if he's doing this color thing correctly. George has no idea. He could be completely making this all up.

Harry opens his mouth and Louis eases just the tip of his cock in; Harry hums and -- George can see Harry's tongue moving, and it's dirty and obscene and he's had sex with the both of them at the same fucking time but this feels like _more_. Maybe it's because he's watching and not participating, but this feels so much filthier than anything they've done before. George can feel himself getting hard now, but to touch himself would feel wrong, somehow. He shifts in his seat, instead, and lets his hands clench against his thighs.

Louis only has a hand in Harry's hair, still, and he's not pushing, just resting his hand there. George can't imagine that level of restraint. Harry's mouth is a thing of beauty and if George felt that on his dick, he doesn't think he could stay so still.  
Louis does, though, letting Harry kiss and nuzzle and lick his way around the head, exploring, never taking his eyes off Louis' face. Harry kisses over the tip with wide, soft lips, and George can _hear_ how wet it is and it makes him blush -- Harry pulls back and there's a moment that his mouth is still connected to Louis' cock with a slick string of spit and pre-come and George digs his fingernails into his own thigh.

How in the world Louis can just watch that and not -- not -- not _anything_ , George doesn't know. Louis just tightens his grip in Harry's hair, a little, or that's what it looks like. Maybe that's some sort of signal, though, because Harry goes back down, and his mouth isn't teasing anymore, lips tight around the head of Louis' cock. 

"Good," Louis murmurs, and George can hear the strain in his voice. "Good, Harry. More."

Harry eases in another inch. George is probably bruising his own leg by now with how hard he's gripping it, trying to keep from touching himself. He doesn't understand why Harry isn't going for it; Louis' cock is great for sucking and he's really lovely about it, doesn't pull hair or ears or anything.

Louis strokes through Harry's hair again, all soft and slow, letting him go down as much as he wants.

Louis' fingers tighten in Harry's hair. "More?"

Harry slurps back and coughs once lightly, glancing down for the barest second. "Yellow?"

There's the colors again. Yellow must mean slow down, or something, which makes sense. Maybe this is one of those things, George thinks, one of those things they've talked about where Harry likes it or doesn't like it. He'll ask about that later. Now's obviously not the best time.

Louis nods and gives Harry a light scratch behind the ear. "However much you want. You may use your hands now."

That's what Harry does, anyway: he slows down. When he goes down on Louis now, it's not as far, and one of his giant hands curls around the bit of Louis that his mouth isn't on.

He hums, though, and looks peaceful, like all he ever wants to do in the world is suck at the head of Louis' dick while Louis smooths his hands through his hair and -- yeah, George gets that. He does. He bites his lip, watching them, his own mouth watering a little, and knows that he's leaking all over the front of his pants.

All he can think about now is how good Louis would taste in his mouth, already wet from Harry's, how nice it'd feel on his tongue. He really wishes Louis had let him blow him, but this feels like a privilege to watch, so maybe he's okay with that.

Harry looks like George feels, loose-limbed and far away, and his hand is still moving in short, jerking motions but it's like Harry isn't all there. George wonders if that's how he looks, when he goes good-fuzzy. He probably doesn't look as good as Harry does.

"Make me come now," Louis murmurs. Harry starts sucking in earnest, his hand moving fast and slick on what isn't in his mouth. It's so matter-of-fact, the way Louis says it. George can't imagine he'd be anything but demanding, but maybe that's why he's -- it's weird to even think about it in the terms they use -- a submissive. He'd probably be awful at doing what Louis's doing; when he tries to be firm he just comes off as bossy and annoying.

Louis is flushed now, his hips rocking forward in little increments, but never enough that Harry chokes or has to stop. It doesn't take very long at all for Louis's muscles to tense and Goerge doesn't blame him when he makes a soft noise and then spills into Harry's mouth.

He wants that.

He wants -- he wants to feel what's making Harry's face look like that, so open and _thankful_. He wants to know he's made Louis happy. That's what this whole night is about, isn't it, that he felt like he'd made Louis sad and now they're showing him, if he's good, if he wants this, he can learn how to make Louis so happy, too.

And he wants that. He wants this.

Louis holds Harry's shoulder to balance himself a moment while he catches his breath, then says, "Stand, Harry, please."

Harry stands up quickly, and it crosses George's mind that he's been kneeling a long time now. He's kind of impressed when Harry doesn't wince.

"Open up," Louis requests softly, and Harry opens his mouth -- white dribbles onto his lip and George flushes just from watching.

Louis' hand comes up to cup Harry's jaw, his thumb carressing the dip above Harry's chin. For a moment, his face is just as open as Harry's, full of affection and fondness, and it takes George's breath away.

Louis leans in a little and sucks on Harry's lower lip, and Harry stays absolutely still. George is going out of his mind watching them, imagining doing that, staying that still while Louis tastes himself in George's mouth. The thought makes him squirmy and hot, but in a good way. In the best way, he thinks.

"Swallow," Louis instructs, then, and Harry closes his mouth to swallow down the rest of Louis' come. When he's finished, he opens up again to show Louis that it's all gone.

"Really good," Louis praises him, and he runs his hands over Harry's chest and sides and flicks the pad of his thumb in a light brush over one of Harry's main nipples. "Really good, Harry. Can you get hard for me now?"

George blinks and startles. _He's_ so hard he thinks he might _die_ , so he hadn't even noticed that Harry -- still wasn't. He must have the self-control of a _god_. He remembers, vaguely, that they'd been talking about training Harry to come on command. Maybe that's part of what this is, training Harry in when to get hard, when to come, when to make Louis come. He wonders if they'd want him to learn how to do those things, and shivers. He wants to.

Louis is still barely touching Harry -- just rubbing his chest and sides and letting his fingertips trail over Harry's abs -- and Harry's forehead is drawn in a tiny wrinkle between his brows, but as George watches, Harry _does_ start to get hard, fuller and fatter between his thighs.

He's not touching his cock, and Louis isn't touching his cock, and it's mesmerizing, really. It's like Harry's getting hard through sheer willpower, breathing heavily and standing completely still.

George can't believe what's happening in front of him. Louis isn't touching Harry anywhere below the waist but Harry's thick and the head of his dick is glistening with pre-come. He thinks about Harry and Louis, like this, with silence in the room, and Harry trying to suppress his arousal until Louis says so. He has to swallow and close his eyes for a moment.

George can't imagine trusting someone as much as they trust each other. And they want to let him in -- when they said they trusted _him_ , that... suddenly means _so_ much more.

"That was faster than last time," murmurs Louis, just loud enough for George to hear. "Good job. Next time, I'm not going to touch you at all."

Harry nods. "Thank you."

 _Thank you_? Harry is thanking _Louis_? George thinks Louis owes Harry a bit of a thanks, because that's _amazing_. Harry's amazing. They're both amazing, but if Louis asked George just to get hard on command, he wouldn't be able to do it. It must have taken _ages_ to learn and suddenly George is a little ashamed of how aroused he's been this whole time, like -- maybe he needed to earn that.

He thinks they might like to teach him that, though. They might want him to learn from them how to do the things they can do. Harry and Louis have been doing this for ages. He doesn't think they'll want him with them for _ages_ , but maybe they'll want him with them long enough for him to learn how to do that.

Maybe if he does well enough, they'll keep him. Like the X Factor, but with sex, like... every week, they'll see if he's still good enough to be kept around.

He wants to be really, really good.

"Get on the bed," Louis instructs. George almost moves automatically at the sound of his voice before he remembers what's going on and settles back down in his seat, watching Harry move in smooth strides to climb onto the bed.

He sits perched on the edge of the bed, staring at Louis; his cock is flushed and tall in front of him, but Harry doesn't touch it. George himself has reached the point where even the brush of his pyjama trousers against his own dick is almost too much to handle, and he -- well, he isn't Harry Styles, and if he slides his own hand into his pants just to wrap his fingers around and hold it, then he... well, Louis hasn't told him not to.

Louis seems to survey Harry for a moment before he nods, apparently pleased. "Lie down," he says, and then, "Head on the pillows," as he reaches into the drawer beside their bed.

Harry hums and lies back, eyes closed; he stretches, arching his back and jesus, if the sight of naked Harry Styles spreading himself out on the bed, toes curling and fingers just barely touching the headboard isn't the most beautiful thing George has ever seen, he doesn't know what is.

There's another moment of surveyance before Louis joins Harry on the bed, his hand curled around a tube of lubricant. He doesn't have a condom, of course, George notices with a thrill up his spine. And they won't need one next time he gets to join, either.

He bites his lip, wondering. They had told him that Harry almost never bottomed, but George doesn't really see how -- Harry's just so much _bigger_ than Louis, cock and all the rest of him, how he can be in Louis' control if he's over Louis.

Louis leans over Harry's chest and whispers something to him, something George can't hear. Harry bites his lip a little and then nods, and Louis gives him a kiss on the head before he leans over into the drawer that George just noticed he left open.

From the drawer, Louis withdraws a length of something silky, and long, and with a jolt, George remembers them talking in the kitchen about how Harry sometimes likes to be tied down.

It makes his heart beat faster -- until it feels like it might fly right out of his chest -- and George doesn't know why this seems like something so much more objectionable than being held down so tightly that he bruises. He loves being held down, loves not being able to move and having to just _take it_ but -- well, Harry doesn't. Harry doesn't like more than two fingers, he remembers, and Harry doesn't get fucked much.

He doesn't want Harry to be made to do something he doesn't want, and even though he _knows_ Harry said he wants it all, it's like it's suddenly real that Louis is actually dominating Harry. Harry is completely under Louis' control and Louis could do _anything_ to him.

The way Louis ties him is smooth and unhurried, and practiced. It looks like it's something he's done before and _often_ , which sends another shiver up George's spine. One of Harry's hands is secured to the headboard, and then the other, and George thinks that's going to be it. Surely that'll be it?

Louis doesn't stop there, though, instead moving down the bed and tying Harry's ankles as well. Harry looks more vulnerable than George has ever seen him, and it's offputting in a way he wasn't expecting it to be. Harry literally couldn't move if Louis did something he didn't want.

He supposes that's the point, though, the lack of control. And there's the color thing, and Louis seems to pay attention to that. George keeps forgetting that they know what they're doing.

Louis isn't scary, though, the way George would have thought, hearing the words. He has _tried_ watching porn like this, but it always made him feel itchy -- in a bad way -- because the dominants were always so cross and _huge_ and _mean_ and ill-tempered. Louis isn't like that at all. He gives Harry little smiles and kisses the insides of Harry's calves and knees and thighs after tying his ankles, and he licks over the birdcage tattoo on Harry's side after his arms are bound. 

Louis isn't going to hurt Harry, and George knows it because Louis wouldn't let Harry hurt George even by accident. He's the one in control because he _is_ the most in control, George remembers. The one whose head doesn't get fuzzy, and he can pay attention to two -- or three -- people enough.

The thought makes George relax in his seat, and he watches them with a bit more ease now. He just has to remind himself that Louis isn't going to hurt Harry, even if he could.

"Watch me," says Louis as he eases one leg over Harry's thighs. Harry's legs are splayed a little because of where they're tied, so in Louis's position, his own thighs need to be spread wider than they ordinarily would.

It's obvious why when he grasps the tube from the bedspread and pops the cap, squeezing a significant amount of slick onto his fingers. George only realizes what he's going to do a second before Louis reaches behind himself and presses a fingertip between his arsecheeks.

George sucks in a breath and squeezes the base of his cock, watching. Louis said to watch him. He's going to watch Louis.

Harry's watching Louis as well, barely blinking and not moving at all (not that he could, George thinks with a nervous swallow). Louis' finger seems to slide in easily, and he's adding the second almost immediately.

Harry murmurs quietly, just a low, throaty, humming sound, and Louis' gaze flicks from Harry's cock to Harry's face.

"Talk," Louis assents, then wets his lower lip with the tip of his tongue.

"You look so good," Harry breathes immediately, and George can hear the relief in Harry's voice like he's been holding it in all this time. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

George doesn't think either of them even realizes he's in the room anymore. He's not the point of this, though, and he gets that. It feels a bit wrong to see Harry like this, subservient or whatever they'd call it. Whenever George has been with them before, it's been _him_ being grateful and almost crying with it, and Harry's been easing him in, going between how Louis thinks and how George feels.

It's strange to George to see Harry so soft and docile -- but only because he isn't always that way. Then again, George hadn’t been a – he corrects himself and thinks _submissive_ instead of ‘basketcase’ – until them, either.

Louis is up to three fingers now and riding back against them, his fringe in his eyes and his lip caught beneath his teeth.

Louis makes a satisfied sort of humming sound as he removes his fingers and shuffles up Harry's hips. Harry is still so, so hard, George almost hurts with sympathy for how hard he is, but Louis doesn't do anything about it. He pats Harry low on his stomach and then grips the base of Harry's cock.

There's a sharp inhale when Louis begins to lower himself onto Harry's dick, but George only realizes after a moment that it was him. Neither Louis nor Harry makes a sound as Louis sinks down.

George recognizes the look on Harry's face, though, because he's made it. He flushes all over when he realizes that he knows something secret about both of them that they can never know: George knows what it's like to be filled by Harry Styles, and Harry can never know that, and George knows what it feels like to fuck into Louis Tomlinson, and Louis can never know _that_. He's the gap between them that closes all the gaps, and suddenly he wants to be exactly that -- to be fucking and fucked at the same moment, _being_ the place between them -- so much that he has to squeeze hard to keep from coming all over himself.

It's not easy, when the picture in front of him is so very pretty. George has no idea how Louis's done it, but he's almost completely sat astride Harry, bouncing a little bit to fit the last of Harry's cock in him. George remembers that, how full it is when Harry's inside him, and he doesn't see how Louis can possibly still be upright.

And then he does the impossible -- he leans forward just enough to press his finger to Harry's lips, and instructs:

"Do not come, Harry."

George makes a noise in the back of his throat, a disbelieving 'guh' noise, but Harry doesn't make a sound at all. He just nods, his brows pulling together a little in determination.

Louis strokes the backs of two fingers over Harry's cheek. "Good."

It's impossible, it's got to be. Harry's so hard and George knows that Louis is always _so_ tight. There's no way anybody in the world's got that kind of stamina.

Harry seems to want to try, and George isn't going to tell him it's a useless attempt, of course, but he just can't see how Harry will be able to resist, especially as Louis plants his hands on Harry's chest and begins to lift himself.

He isn't taking Harry any more slowly than he'd ridden George, and George feels sweaty and hot under his clothes as he watches Harry's cock, bright red and shining and stiff, disappearing into Louis fast and hard, almost all the way off and down, in again, at a brutally fast pace. George is still skeptical that Harry will be able to last, but he was also skeptical that Louis would be able to take all of Harry's cock, and he was proven wrong there. Maybe he'll be wrong about this, too.

The pace of Louis's movements is quick, more quickly than George thinks he'd be able to ride on Harry. Louis' had more practice, though, so it might be because of that.

Louis also has the body for this -- how had Harry phrased it that first time? Doesn't matter, he's just so _fit_ and it's like they were made to go together, Harry's abs so taught as he holds his hips still and Louis' thighs golden and glistening with sweat and all ropey muscle working to drive himself up and down, one hand braced lightly on Harry's chest like this isn't even difficult for him.

George wants to get there, someday. He wants to be able to fit with them, and let someone work him open, and he wants to be told that he's not allowed to come and he wants to obey that instruction like Harry is doing. Harry, with his shining eyes and his pink face and his muscles tense and bunched up as he looks at Louis, waiting for him to tell Harry what to do.

Harry bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut. "It's -- maybe?"

Louis slows, Harry pushed in deep and Louis just barely rocking over Harry's hips. "D'you need me off a minute?"

George watches Harry slowly, slowly lick his lip and open his eyes, glittering and wet and there are shiny tracks in his eyelashes. "No -- I'm -- green?"

Louis bends down and kisses Harry's neck, and George realizes suddenly that they haven't kissed on the mouth since this began. Maybe that's not allowed. Did they kiss him during, last time? He can't remember suddenly.

He doesn't know any of the rules, and he has so many questions. He really hopes they'll let him ask questions when they're done.

Louis begins to move again, but slowly, building himself back up instead of just falling back into his original rhythm. George wonders if that's because he knows Harry needs it a bit slower or if Louis just doesn't think he can last.

Harry's fingers twitch on their ropes like he's just tried to reach out for Louis, touch his shoulder, his neck, his waist. "Green, really." 

He nods and the littlest, mildest smile ripples over his face like a breeze. Louis drags his lips over Harry's chest, catching one nipple, then a tiny nub, before he sits up again and slides, achingly slowly, almost all the way off Harry's dick, and slides slow, slow, slowly down again.

This rips a sound from Harry, a low moan that seems like it's being dragged from his throat. It makes George ache for him, just watching, but Harry bites his lip and nods again before Louis can even bother to stop.

Louis moves his hand away from Harry's chest and the only way to tell that he's affected by this at all is in the tremble of his fingers and the pretty bead of sweat rolling down Louis' neck. 

He picks up his pace again, back concave and one hand holding his own fringe out of his face; the other hand, Louis touches to Harry's mouth and murmurs, "No more talking, okay?" He taps his thumb hard on the bow of Harry's lip. " _Do not come_ ," he reminds Harry.

Harry's toes curl as George watches, but his mouth remains shut and he doesn't even nod, just takes in a breath through his nose.

George is still in awe of Harry's self-restraint. Louis' as well, but he's already come once, and Harry hasn't yet. Harry has been hard now for what seems like ages, and Louis is riding him quickly again, and George has to take in a shaky breath of his own.

He's working his hand absently in his trousers now, and he could take his cock out -- they probably wouldn't mind -- but it seems unfair, like that would make this about him and _his_ pleasure when it isn't. Not yet, anyway.

Louis looks the best he's ever looked like this, George thinks. Certainly the best George has ever seen him. He still has half of a smile on his face, like he can't do anything else while Harry's inside him. George understands that feeling. Harry really does feel magnificent.

Louis' hand drops from Harry's mouth and drags instead over Harry's chest and down, in between the bones of Harry's hips so Louis can feel where they're joined, his thumb and forefinger not quite meeting in a circle around the thick base of Harry's cock so he can feel where they're coming together.

George's thumb flicks over the head of his own cock, still hiding in his pants, and he bites his lip so hard it will be swollen tomorrow.

Louis' eyes flutter shut -- Harry's heel hits the mattress hard, the only movement he can get with Louis' weight bearing his hips down into the bed and his arms and legs tied too tightly to get any real leverage. 

Louis snaps his eyes open and smiles down at Harry, breathing hard. He pats Harry's belly and it's _just_ patronizing enough that it makes George ache to watch.

"You're a good boy, Harry," Louis praises, and then he isn't touching Harry anywhere except where Harry's inside him. Instead Louis sucks at his own middle fingers just to wet them and circles them over his nipple, and Harry's eyes go bright and soft and his mouth is wet and wanting again.

It's cruel, George thinks, staring at the curves of Louis’ body. Louis looks so good it should be criminal and he's not even in the same position as Harry is, having to watch it from underneath, seeing how amazing Louis looks when he's being fucked. Though, George doesn't know if that's accurate, because if anybody's being fucked… it's Harry.

Harry's lips are deep pink and he's the same color high on his cheekbones, his hands twitching every so often like he wants something to grab on to but knows there's nothing.

George watches those long, long fingers wind themselves desperately around the soft silk cords binding Harry's wrists to the headboard, and realizes, a little belatedly and with a bright pink blush of his own, that the needy moaning in the room is _mostly_ coming from himself.

He deliberately makes an effort to quiet down, biting his lip as hard as he can without making himself bleed and even then, he can hear himself making these muffled, pathetic sounds. Louis doesn't tell him not to, though, so he just tries to keep as quiet as he can and keeps watching.

Louis' jaw twitches, and his eyes shut again, the hand that's been anchored in his hair shaking a little as he grabs for his cock instead. He wraps his fingers around it and jerks the same unrelenting rhythm that he's been riding Harry.

George doesn't think it's going to take very long, and he's right. Of course, Louis' not the one who has to hold out; it's Harry who's been told not to come. Louis just keeps up that rough pace on himself for a few moments and then his head falls back. Impressively, Louis doesn't even stop moving as he's coming, continuing to ride Harry through his orgasm even though his rhythm falters a little, becoming shaky and erratic.

Come splatters at Harry's belly and chest and George lets out a low, harsh grunt, _wanting_ it, wanting it on his skin, wanting to lick and taste and swallow. Harry's eyes are wide open, staring, amazed and content and needing so badly; his teeth are clenched tight.

"Not yet," Louis grinds out, his hand still curled around himself, though it's no longer moving. He sets his other hand down on Harry's stomach again, the movements of his hips becoming slower and more intent, it seems. "Not yet, Harry."

Harry is whimpering now, and his chest is heaving with the force of the breaths he's taking in to hold for a three-count before letting them go.

"Good, Harry," Louis whispers, and pulls himself up and off Harry's cock, leaving it alone and untouched and naked. "Really good, love, you're doing really well. Are you ready?"

Harry nods desperately, his eyes bright. 

Louis kisses Harry's hip. "Come."

Nothing happens, and George's heart aches for Harry, how badly he wants this, how badly George wants it _for_ him. For them; for all of it.

Harry's face is still determined and desperate and his hands clench into fists around the ropes binding him. He takes in a shuddering breath.

" _Come_ ," Louis says more insistently, and Harry breaks into a moan that sounds more like a sob, his cock finally jerking as he spills over his own stomach.

Harry keeps taking deep, shuddering breaths, his face and chest bright pink with exertion and tears tracking down the sides of his face, but Louis is beaming at him, sweaty-faced and radiant, his fingers playing in the mess of come all over Harry's belly.

"That was closer," says Louis softly, pecking Harry's arm. "We'll get there next time. Just need to try a bit harder."

George shivers at the thought of Harry trying even harder than he had been just then. It doesn't seem possible, even. Harry looks like he's been through some sort of crisis, flushed all down his chest and still teary-eyed, but he's smiling as well as he can.

He seems beyond words, though, and his fingers are still tangled in his ropes.

Louis kisses Harry's arm again gently, right over the star tattoo, and moves to untie the binding there. Harry's first arm falls flat on the pillow, then the second. Louis kisses him all over all the while, murmuring soft praise that George can't hear but makes him happy anyway.

Harry still isn't moving much, but George can only imagine that's normal. He's still nuzzling into all of Louis's little touches, blinking and slowly seeming to come back into himself, though he continues to lie nearly motionless on the bed.

Once his last ankle is untied, Louis stretches out along Harry's side and nuzzles into his throat once before kissing Harry's lips for the first time since they began, and George realizes all at once that means it's over.

And that he's come in his pants. He isn't sure when; it could have been ages ago or it could have been when Harry finally got to come or it could have been at that little, chaste, simple kiss.

He feels, all of a sudden, very tired. It's ridiculous because he hasn't even done anything, what right does he have to be tired at all? Harry and Louis did all the work, he just sat there and watched and got himself off.

Harry still looks a little limp and dazed, but Louis looks over at George and smiles.

"George?" he asks quietly. "Do you want to bring us a blanket and come have a little cuddle so we can talk some more?"

His voice sounds all husky and low, and it makes George shudder again.

"Yes. I. Yes." His hand is a bit wet, so he wipes it on the inside of his pyjama trousers and stands up with a bit of a wobble. "I. Where?"

Louis nods his chin towards the cupboard and never stops touching Harry.

It's hard for George to take his eyes away, but he manages it. He has to, or he'd fall on his face and he doesn't want that.

The cupboard has a few blankets in it, and they all look equally soft and cozy, so he grabs the red one and closes the cupboard door. It's easier to do things if he thinks in steps: Get the blanket, turn around, walk toward the bed. Thankfully, Louis seems to be a master of patience, and he doesn't snap at George to hurry up or get a different one.

George hands Louis the blanket and Louis tucks it over Harry, rubbing his hand over Harry's shoulders before kissing him again. Then he turns and opens an arm for George -- letting him choose whether to join them.

It occurs to George that this is the moment, really, of asking whether he's in or he's out.

Probably, it should take more thinking than it does. He should probably not be this attached to people he's known less than a month. He is, though. He wants them and he wants this and that's enough for him to make a decision.

He slips himself under Louis' arm and sighs.

Louis kisses him, too, once. Just as chaste and soft on his bruised, swollen lip.

"Is he okay?" George asks, keeping his voice hushed. He doesn't know if he's supposed to attempt a conversation, or if he's supposed to just stay quiet and let them do whatever it is they need to do.

"Yeah, he's okay," Louis assures him. "Do you want to give him a good cuddle, too, just to be sure, or are you a little -- are _you_ alright?"

George tries a smile. It comes more easily than he's expecting. "Bit different than I was thinking. I'm okay, though. Just, it's. A lot."

"What was different?" Louis asks, and his voice is so kind and gentle. "It's good to talk it all over, after. Once Harry's got his breath back, he... always has a lot to say."

"I didn't think he was going to be able to do it," George says, leaning his head onto Louis' shoulder. Louis is sweaty and he smells sort of like come, but he's still very comfortable. "Control it like that."

"We're working on it," Louis confirms. "What did you think about that? Me asking him to do that?"

George swallows. "Do you think I could -- I don't know if I could, but I'd like to try. Learning how to do that. Control it when you ask me to."

Louis nods. "We could do that. What else did you see that you liked?"

"I liked..." George licks his lips. "I don't know if I'd like being tied down. I like it when it's a person, holding me, but I don't know if it'd be the same with rope. Do you think it would be?"

"Why don't you ask Harry what he thought, tonight?" Louis asks gently. He hasn't stopped touching Harry for a moment, rubbing calming circles with his palm over Harry's chest and arms.

"Can I?" asks George hesitantly. Harry had seemed pretty out of it last time George checked. He can't see him being in a place to answer what he thought about anything.

"It's good for him," Louis answers, and gives George a little smile. "Go on, if you want. Roll on over and give him a squeeze and talk to him."

"Are you sure?" George feels stupid even asking. Of course Louis' sure; he's been doing this for ages with Harry.

George does as Louis says and rolls over to Harry's side, draping an arm over Harry's stomach and clearing his throat before he speaks again. "Harry?"

"Hmm?" Harry asks, and turns his head to meet George's eyes. It takes George's breath away a little, how Harry looks right now.

It's enough to make him stutter on the beginning of his sentence. "I, er, I just wondered, can I ask you about, all this?"

Harry takes a long moment to think it over, but if he's feeling half of what George was earlier -- only, of course, Harry looks sleepy and satisfied, not sick with uncontrollable panic -- then George understands.

"Yes," Harry finally decides, giving George a slow, drowsy smile. "Of course you can. What did you want to know?" His words are very measured and take even longer to come out than they usually do.

George wants to know everything, now. He wants to ask how Harry did it, how they figured out that's what they wanted, how long it's taken to learn to communicate that way, why giving head made him say yellow even though he likes doing it, he wants to know everything and then _try_ things.

But instead, George burrows into Harry's chest and mutters, "Is it scary?"

Harry hums, one big hand fumbling up over George's back until it can press between his shoulder blades, keeping him closer. He kisses George's head.

"Yeah, at first," he admits. "It was really scary. But I knew it was what I wanted."

George can tell that, he thinks. Harry's much calmer than he's been all day, actually calmer than George has ever seen him. It's more than post-orgasm bliss, because George has seen that on Harry before, and it looks good but not this... peaceful. This is something different. This is something George wants to know more about.

"Can I ask you about stuff that happened -- during -- or is that, like, bad etiquette?" he wonders, kissing Harry's arm because it's there and lovely and HArry's skin is soft.

Harry hums, so George kisses his arm again -- but makes sure he keeps clear of all the tattoos that Harry told Louis belonged to him. 

"No, we should," Louis agrees. "That's what we should have done from the off, George."

George moves his hand to push against Louis' side. It's not much of a reassurance, but it's all George can do without moving away from Harry, and he doesn't want to do that.

"I was just going to ask," he begins, unsure of how to ask what he wants to. "The colors? When you said yellow, I didn't understand why. Does that mean to -- not, or, I don't understand."

Harry looks apologetic and looks to Louis. "Sorry I had to."

"No." Louis kisses him again, and rubs his thumb over Harry's ear. "You did the right thing." He looks over Harry's shoulder to George. "It just means it's getting too much, but it's still alright. It tells _me_ that I need to watch what I'm doing. Harry was good to say it when he needed," Louis murmurs, and he kisses Harry's shoulder.

"So it really is like a traffic light," mutters George, his fingers moving absently over Harry's ribs. "I thought you liked giving head, though?" he asks, tipping his chin up to look at Harry properly.

Harry blinks slowly. "I do. I just... sort of gag a lot. I can't figure out how to fix it."

"Oh. Alright." That's reasonable, George supposes. He doesn't have much of a gag reflex, himself, but that's just one of many ways he and Harry are different. "Uh, something else?" he starts cautiously. "You didn't, uh. Kiss. At all. And you usually kiss a lot."

Harry looks to Louis for this, and Louis takes a moment to cluck over Harry, stroking his face and neck before kissing his mouth gently.

"We just figured out after a while that it helped to... separate things?" Louis explains haltingly. "We don't, it's not like this is _every_ time we do it. It's not even most times, anymore, 'cause it just takes a while to get ready and calm down and everything and usually we have -- like, ten minutes in some airplane bathroom or whatever. It's not feasible. Erm, but yeah, just helps me keep my mind in if we don't kiss during a scene." Louis goes a little pink. "That's why I think I didn't realize how susceptible you were, George. We kissed a lot. So I didn't think."

"Susceptible." George hiccups out a laugh. "You make it sound so scientific. I like kissing. It's fun and it makes people happy. I like it when people are happy." He noses into Harry's neck, letting out a sigh. "Are you happy?"

Harry's arm finally seems either to have gotten enough feeling back or enough control back to move, and he wraps it tightly around George's waist. "Yeah, I'm happy." He pauses. "Was it okay, Lou?"

Louis kisses Harry's mouth again, like now that he can, he can't get enough of it. "Fantastic as ever, love," he murmurs. "The best time with my best boys."

George flushes a little bit that he used the plural. So Louis _had_ remembered he was in the room.

"Hey," Louis murmurs, and he thumbs George's cheekbone. "What's that blush for?"

"Just... like when you pay attention to me," George mumbles, embarrassed. He cuddles closer to Harry, who doesn't seem to mind at all.

Louis smiles at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners. It might be George's favorite smile. "Well, I like giving you attention." He leans over to kiss George's head. "You just tell me if you ever need me to give you a bit more, and I will. It's not any trouble if I like doing it, is it?"

George keeps his face buried in Harry's neck, even though he's so sweaty and gross that it's not really all that pleasant. 

"You're, like... Louis Tomlinson, though?" George tries. "You're proper famous and you're in One Direction and you're busy. I'm just George."

Louis' hand rests lightly on George's shoulder, stroking back and forth. "Can you look at me, please?" he asks, his voice light and pleasant. "I'm going to tell you something but you need to be paying attention."

George breathes in twice and kisses Harry's collarbone before he peeks over with one wide, wary brown eye.

"I'm not going to be Louis Tomlinson, with you," Louis says softly. "And Harry's not going to be Harry Styles. We're just going to be Louis and Harry. And when you're here, we're going to be Louis and Harry and George. We're going to take care of you. You deserve to be taken care of."

George buries his face into Harry's shoulder again.

"I don't want you to feel like you have to hide from us." Louis sounds much more understanding than George would really like. Or maybe he does like it. He's not sure; he's feeling a lot of emotions all at once. "We just want to help you."

"I just, I didn't know I _needed_ help until... I fell apart a few hours ago," George mutters into Harry's skin. "I was just excited my tests came back clean and I wanted to have a lot of sex. That's normal. And now I'm -- it wasn't as scary as I thought, watching you, but..."

It's easier to talk with Harry's arm around him, he thinks. He feels secure, or at least more secure than he did.

"But?" Louis leads quietly. "But what, George? You don't have to be scared of us. We're not going to do anything you don't want."

George is silent for a long time as he considers his next words. Louis hands are warm on his back, slipping up beneath the cotton of his t-shirt to run over George's skin; Harry's heartbeat slows back to normal, thumping beneath George's ear. 

"I want to have someone take care of me," George decides finally, "But I don't want to feel... dependent? It scared me a lot when I freaked out so bad over that stupid tweet, but part of that was that it freaked me out that I was freaking out so bad at all. I don't want to lose _me_ when I've just left home and got started?"

Louis makes a soft noise of understanding. "You don't want to feel like you can't function on your own," he says. It sounds a bit like a question, but also like he knows what he's saying is true.

"I'm sort of afraid I'm not," George admits. "I was in London _two weeks_ before you picked me up."

"I don't think you have to worry," Harry says, and it hits George how little Harry's said all night. Normally he talks the most of them all. "I mean, we're different, obviously. But... I don't feel like it makes me dependent. And, look, I know I just said we're different, basically, but you're in a boy band and I'm in a boy band and you're -- gonna have people prying into your life. Having something just yours... that helps."

George lets out a slow sigh as he thinks that over. It sounds all well and good, but he just doesn't know if it can work. He's so used to things not working for him. "I don't really usually have -- things that are mine," He says carefully. "Not like this. Not for keeps."

Louis lifts George's hand and kisses it. "Neither do we. But we've made it work. Me and Harry."

The back of George's mind buzzes. "But what about Aiden?"

"You aren't Aiden," Louis tells him. "Aiden was a long time ago, and none of us knew what we were doing. I was eighteen, I hardly knew how to care for myself, let along two other people. Things have changed now, though. I know what I need to do."

George nods. His hair tickles Harry's nose and Harry sniffs, making George laugh a little and sit up to kiss Harry's cheek.

"Erm," George starts, "But also with that, when I've been here before, and even like, today, Harry's been more like... dom-- in control of me? How does that work with you and him, and then me and him?"

"Harry's a bit of a switch," says Louis with what sounds like almost pride in his voice. "He doesn't always need things like what we did today. Only every once in a while."

"If you only want Louis to be in control of you, that's alright," Harry volunteers quietly. "I won't be, like, I won't be upset or anything. He's a lot better at it than I am."

"No, I like it when you are," George says immediately. "You're good at it, too. And you're comforting." He glances quickly at Louis. "Not that you're _not_ , it's just -- "

"No, I'm pretty bad at comforting," Louis sighs, flopping back against the mattress. "God, can I _please_ apologize again for that stupid tweet?"

"I mean, you can if it makes you feel better." George frowns, shaking his head a little. "It's really not necessary, though. You didn't know I'd take it that way. _I'm_ still not all clear on why I took it that way," he admits.

Harry sighs and rolls over finally, cradling George close in one arm. He doesn't seem the least bit bothered that he's still naked and covered in drying sweat and come while George is fully clothed. 

"I thought about that," he offers. "And I think it's just, basically, that we always have to send you away straight off after. We can't really fix that, because of our schedules, but we should do better at making sure you know day to day that you're not, like... abandoned."

"I didn't think I felt abandoned," George says, but now he's thinking about it. "Just, it feels a bit long between visits, even if it's only a week. Feels like a lot longer, when you really want something."

Harry smiles and kisses him, touching his tongue gently to the swollen bite in George's lip. "We can understand that. We look forward to you coming here, too, you know."

"But you have each other," George points out. "I have... well, Jaymi gave me a cuddle yesterday, but that's because he was worried about my general well-being. Ella gives me cuddles, but that's different."

"D'you want sexy cuddles?" Harry looks a bit confused. "Is that what it is? We could probably arrange something like that?" His eyes are a bit clearer now as he looks over to Louis.

"Not exactly." George shrugs. "Though I never say no to sexy cuddles. I don't know how to explain. Because I don't want to barge in on your relationship," he adds quickly. "I don't expect to be your boyfriend or whatever."

"Oh." Louis looks at him thoughtfully. "Is that what this is about? You still think you're just extra, or whatever you called it?"

George shrugs and tries to smile. "I'm the 'G' in Union 'J.'"

"Neither of our names start with 'J'." Harry yawns, nudging his nose through George's hair. "I don't think you're extra, really. Like, while you're part of our relationship, you're going to be part of our relationship." He blinks slowly, frowning. "Am I making sense?"

George is buzzing a little, even though he's so sleepy. And sticky. He nods. "Yeah. I don't know I believe you, but. Yeah, you make sense."

"You should believe me." Harry pats his back again. "I'm very trustworthy."

"I think that's all the talking we're going to get through, tonight," Louis breaks in gently. "You both look so tired it's making me tired. Do either of you need anything? Water, or a snack? Another blanket?"

"Clean?" Harry requests, yawning. "I'm all gross. 'S fine when it's wet and warm but I rather don't like being crusty."

"Of course you don't." Louis gives Harry another one of those fond looks that makes George's stomach do loops. "Damp flannel enough, or do you want a bath?"

Harry flops back on the bed, arms and legs spread wide. "Clean me, peasants."

Louis levels George with an incredulous look.

"You stay here and keep the egomaniac company, I'll be right back," he says, carefully making his way off the bed. "I'm a shout away," he adds, and George doesn't know if it's a reminder to him or to Harry that he'll be close, but it's comforting all the same when Louis disappears into the adjoining bathroom.

Harry looks over at George and winks, then pats his chest. "Come have a cuddle, little Georgie. But your head down here."

"But you're crusty," George points out. He lies down anyway, nestling his hairsprayed-to-all-hell hair down on Harry's sternum.

"You're all little," murmurs Harry. George doesn't really think that's relevant to the conversation, but Harry seems happy enough. He wraps his arms tightly around George's shoulders and keeps him tucked close. "I like it."

"You know I'm older than you, right?" George double-checks. "By nearly a year."

"Doesn't make you any less little," Harry argues. He settles both of his hands on George's back and spreads out his fingers. "See?" he concludes. "Little."

George presses a little closer, because if he's honest, he likes Harry's hands spread out over his back and he can easily imagine them staying there, holding him in place as Harry fucks him from behind.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" asks Louis, voice tinged with amusement as he settles a warm, damp cloth on Harry's stomach. "Greedy little minx, you are."

Harry just smiles at Louis like he's the sun, humming happily once under his breath as Louis runs the cloth over his skin.

It's an interesting thing for George to watch, even through eyes that feel gritty with tiredness. Harry seems content to just let Louis clean him up, and other then his original comment, Louis doesn't look like he minds doing it.

Louis gestures toward George with the cloth once he's done washing Harry. "Would you like me to do you?" he asks.

George blushes. "Sorry. I didn't mean to, it was just. You're both really fit?"

"I didn't mind, babe. I didn't really expect you to just sit and watch us without taking care of yourself." Louis grins at him. "Thanks for the compliment, though. Never bad to hear."

George smiles and his nose wrinkles up. Harry makes another little happy noise and rumples George's hair.

Louis holds up the cloth. "Did you want me to clean you up before sleeping?"

"You don't have to," George says, but he does feel awfully sticky and gross and unpleasant below the waist. It's a shame when he feels so lovely, otherwise. "Yes, please?"

"There we are," Louis says indulgently, and it's like -- he really does just like taking care of them. He likes when Harry and George are happy, and George hasn't really known anyone like that before.

It's nice. George feels nice, and after earlier was not-so-nice, he's really happy that he can actually feel anything approaching nice around Louis. Better than nice, even.

It is sort of weird, Louis edging George's shirt up his belly and easing his pyjama trousers down enough that he can get at George's groin and his thighs when it's not even sexual at all, but he could get used to it. Maybe.

He hopes he can get used to it. That he'll get the opportunity to get used to having this.

"Nice and clean," Louis concludes, tugging George's trousers up for him and shimmying his shirt back down around his waist. He looks so happy he's glowing, and George doesn't even realize he's smiling until Louis smiles back.

"Can I kiss you, George?" Louis looks surprisingly shy and young, and it occurs to George in a rush that Louis _is_ young, still. He's younger than half of Union J, even, and he's the _oldest_ of One Direction.

"I'd like that a lot," George decides. He hasn't kissed Louis since he and Harry finished, and it feels a bit wrong. He didn't realize how much he was aching to do it until now.

Louis smiles and leans down, crawling up George's body so they can lie chest pressed against chest, Louis' hips rested in the still-spread cradle of George's thighs. 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you you're amazing," Louis murmurs, and nuzzles his nose against George's. "That was stupid of me. District 3 are butterfaces."

George splutters out a laugh that makes Louis reel back a little and hold a hand over his ear.

"Aw," Harry teases, leaning over them both and nuzzling at their shoulders. "You hurt his _monkey ear_."

"Oh, God," groans George, tucking his face into -- someone's shoulder, he doesn't really know whose. Not positive it's a shoulder, either, actually. "Did you really watch the whole thing?"

"We did," Louis confirms. "And you're so cute and non-sexual in that monkey suit that we felt really dirty after. And you're still adorable, but I want my kiss."

"Am I still cute and non-sexual?" George asks, giving Louis a kiss on the cheek.

Louis pulls a snarky, contemplative face. "With cheek-kisses? Yes."

"I see." George nods, and pretends to think it over for another moment. He's not fooling anybody, though, and he grants Louis his proper kiss without any more dallying. He threads his fingers into the short, almost sharp hair at the nape of Louis' neck; he nips and kisses at Louis' top lip, then the bottom, and he knows that Louis can taste copper where George's lip is swollen and red from biting it to keep from making noise when he came just from watching Louis ride Harry. He teases at Louis' tongue with his own, refusing to give him the kind of full kiss Louis' looking for until he makes a frustrated noise into George's mouth. 

It's the sort of kiss George has been wanting since he last had one, the last time he got to see Louis. Harry's probably the best kisser George has ever kissed, but Louis certainly isn't bad at it, all quiet noises and confident flicks of his tongue. Louis sucks at the bite on George's lip -- just a shade too hard, just enough that it feels like it will bruise blue and make him lisp on the Xtra Factor tomorrow, just enough that it makes the bottom of George's belly bloom with heat because it hurts the way he _does_ like.

George is too knackered to get properly hard. Mostly he just lets the kiss move lazily and the warmth in his stomach remains steadily on the edge of becoming something more. It's a slow-burn kiss and George loves it.

They only stop kissing when Louis mistakenly yawns into George's mouth and George has to turn his head away to laugh again.

"I think that's a sign it's time for sleeping." Louis tickles George's side lightly, giving him one last peck on the lips. Harry is already asleep, one arm folded across his eyes.

"Does he always sleep like that?" George asks, letting Louis maneuver him into a position that's comfortable for them both.

Louis gives him an inquiring look. "I think so, I guess I've never really paid attention. I'm usually asleep when he's asleep."

"Oh," George says, and watches as Louis struts naked around the room to gather the proper sheets and blankets for their bed back from where he'd strewn them earlier. "Are you both sleeping naked?"

"Well, Harry's already out, and he bites if you wake him," Louis says. "If you're not comfortable with it, I can put on pants or trousers."

"No, that's fine," George says quickly. He likes the thought of being able to feel skin against his own. "I just thought, it's a bit weird if I'm the only one who doesn't."

Louis' tired eyes light up mischievously. "Well, go on then, if you like. But don't feel like you have to just on our account."

George doesn't feel like he has to, he just wants to. With that thought in mind, he strips his shirt off over his head and then wriggles a little to get his trousers down around his ankles before he lets them drop off the side of the bed.

Louis smiles at him softly. "Gorgeous. Gorgeous George."

George is pretty sure he blushes a little, which is ridiculous considering how often he's naked in front of Louis already, but there it is. "I'm tired. Come to bed," he urges, already settling back down next to Harry.

Louis smiles at him. "Roll Harry over or something, I want to cuddle you and he's taking up the whole bed. He's turned giant over the last year when I wasn't looking."

That doesn't really seem feasible, but George tries his best. "Shouldn't you be cuddling him?" he asks as he nudges Harry toward the edge of the bed. "Isn't that part of the whole... Thing you're supposed to do, afterwards?"

"You can cuddle him," Louis says. "And if I'm honest, seeing you in such a bad way earlier tonight... I think you need it as much he does. Or more. I've only seen him that bad once or twice."

George presses his cheek against Harry's arm, sighing. "I'm pretty much just embarrassed," he says quietly. "Won't say no to a cuddle, though. Especially one from you."

Harry snuffles a little in his sleep and rolls onto his side, and George presses up against him. Louis turns off the lamp and pulls the blankets up to their chins as he settles in at George's other side.

It's much too warm, sandwiched in between them, but George doesn't want either of them to move. It's more comfortable than he's felt in a long time, and any wrongfootedness that he'd still been feeling melts away with the press of Louis's chest against his spine, and Harry's broad back in front of him.

Louis yawns again and it ruffles George's hair. "Are you alright to sleep? Did you need to ask anything else?"

"No." To be honest, George feels like he's already drifting off. He couldn't muster a decent question if he tried. "Maybe later."

Louis smudges a last kiss to the back of George's shoulder, and George drifts off to sleep feeling more secure than he has in a week.

George wakes up with a crick in his neck from using Harry's elbow as a pillow, the embarrassment of realizing that he's been unconsciously pushing his morning wood up against Harry's hip, and Louis' dick poking into his back.

"Morning." Harry's voice is croaky but the genuine amusement in it is clear. "A good morning for some of us, I'll presume."

George's face goes bright red. "Sorry. I didn't realize."

"Don't be sorry." Harry's face still has the same soft openness it had last night. "I like it. Did you dream about us?"

George's face crinkles as he tries to remember. "I'm not sure. Maybe. Or it might have been like, zombies? Or monkeys. I don't dream normal."

"Obviously not." Harry still sounds amused. "Can I have a kiss, or am I too morning breath-y for you?"

"You can have a kiss," George says, and leans in. Harry rolls over to give George a little smile before pressing their lips together.

Harry kisses him twice, little pecks against George's lips, before sliding his mouth down to George's neck, just far enough down that when he bites at George's pale skin, it could be covered later by the collar of a button-down.

"I'd like to give you something to help you remember me," Harry whispers, nibbling along the line of his neck. "So you can think of me when all those cameras are on you."

George moans softly. "Yes, _please_."

"Yeah?" Harry murmurs, and bites at where the skin is thinnest, stretching over George's clavicle. "You really like bruises that much?"

"I love them," says George through a gasp. "Last time, I looked at the ones on my hips whenever I could. I like touching them."

"How are you such a masochist and you had no idea that's what you were?" Harry asks, laughing a little -- but not unkindly -- against George's chest.

"I didn't know there were words for it," George protests. "Nobody's ever sat me down and talked to me about it. I've never told anyone."

Harry's eyebrows draw together a little sadly even as he takes a good bite of the white underside of George's arm, teeth sharp enough to make him gasp. "And they never noticed? That's sad, I think."

"Well, I never -- erm, really had _enough_ sex with any one person so as they'd pick up on it?"

George doesn't know why he's so embarrassed. _Harry_ is the one that the papers claim has slept with more people in a year than there are days.

"Hm." Harry sucks at the mark he's working on, his brow still furrowed thoughtfully. He pulls away once George is close to writhing. "That'd probably explain it, then. Still, such a waste."

George sighs happily, looking down at the purple-gold splot Harry's left on his arm, right where it will rub any time he moves his arms anywhere close to the rest of his body. "Well, we can make up for it now."

"That's right," Harry agrees, almost singing low in his throat, shifting down on the bed so he can suck a dark lovebite into the soft flat of George's stomach. George can't keep from making happy sounds in the back of his throat. His head's starting to go a bit fuzzy, though that doesn't make much sense. It's just lovebites; it's not like they're even doing anything that sexual. Still, he's lazy-sleepy and his cock hasn't gotten any less hard. He pets through Harry's hair, fingers lazy as Harry litters bruises and marks and pink scrapes of his teeth all over George's skin. 

Harry’s breath is teasingly hot as it ghosts over the shiny, drippy head of George's cock, and Harry laughs softly when George lets out a little whimper and shifts his hips.

"Let's take care of you, love," mumbles Harry, his tongue lapping out to taste the pre-come spilling out of George's cock. He doesn't keep his mouth there, though, instead latching onto a patch of skin at George's thigh and biting another mark into him.

That's almost as good, though, because George can feel Harry's tongue soothing over the scraped, bitten skin, and he opens his thighs a little wider so Harry can fit between more easily, can do whatever he wants.

Harry presses his thumb into the mark he's made, just hard enough for George to feel the prickle of pain. "I wonder if I could get you off just like this," he says under his breath, but not so quietly that George can't hear it.

"You could try," George whispers back, a little tremulously. "I don't think -- I don't know how to come without touching my dick, though, but like... I'm interested to learn?"

"I like a trier." Harry grins up at him, his eyes bright and green in the light of day. "Are there any places you don't like being bitten?"

"Erm, probably the -- normal places people don't like getting bitten?" George says, and instinctively moves to cover his dick just in case Harry thinks he's clever. "I don't know. People don't bite me below the neck much."

Harry kisses his thigh. "I'm deeply disappointed in people, then." He nuzzles at the juncture where George's thigh meets his hip and kisses the soft skin there, as well, before biting down again.

George gasps, his eyes closing; Harry is _so close_ to putting his mouth where he must know George really wants it, but instead he's giving him something else, something other people haven't ever bothered to find out if George likes, and he _does_ , _so much_ that he can't really think -- but in the good way again this time.

"Is this still alright?" Harry asks him, punctuating his sentence with another sucking biting kissing _something_ to the jut of George's hip bone. "Tell me if it's too much."

"It's good," George murmurs, and then, biting his lip, he ventures, quietly, carefully, "Green?"

Harry beams at him. "You remembered! That's good!" he praises, licking over George's new mark.

George preens a little, sighing and then gasping as Harry bites at the inside of George's thigh, raising a blue-red bruise that stings _almost_ too much.

He doesn't change his color, though, and Harry doesn't ask him again.

Harry bites another mark a little higher, where George's skin is sensitive and warm from being under the blanket, and Harry's tongue flicks over it eagerly. He lingers in that one spot for a while, and every so often he bumps the underside of George's cock.

George would think it an accident if he couldn't feel the way Harry's mouth curves into a smile against his skin every time.

It's not enough. George likes hovering on that edge, but after Harry's lips just barely softly nuzzle over the base of George's cock without really kissing, without _anything_ , he groans long and low and desperate and pleads, "I have to -- I'm sorry, I have to touch it, I'm trying?"

"Shh, shh," Harry murmurs, kissing his stomach. "I didn't expect you to, not the first time. It's okay, you can touch, it's alright."

George's moan is broken and reedy when he finally wraps one hand around his cock. The touch is so much, after a week of wanting Harry's mouth on him and now he has it and he's _biting_ and there are marks, evidence, all over George's skin, that George has to cover his face with his other hand or else he might float away altogether.

"You look so good like this." Harry sounds almost awed. "Like you belong to me, all covered in my bruises. I want you to feel all of them during the show and think of me giving them to you."

George nods behind his hand. He can't quite look at Harry right now -- he's too focused on how he _feels_ , the overwhelming crush of being covered in bitemarks that hurt in contrast to the familiar, hot, comforting sweetness of his hand jerking himself off and he thinks, he thinks, that when he comes, Harry will probably lick it up because Harry seems to really like that.

Harry curls a hand around his hip and presses his thumb in to one of the marks, _hard_ , a firm, unyielding pressure that he doesn't ease up on even as George's whimpers increase in pitch.

Harry bends his head forward, soft hair tickling at the soft skin of George's stomach. He breathes, hot and damp and not nearly enough, just barely kissing George's cock with wet heat.

"Oh," George pants, his strokes slowing. His palm is wet with his own slick and that's all, and the friction is killing him as he slowly drags his hand up and then back down. Harry stays where he is and just breathes, and George can feel it on his every upstroke.

"I can't -- Harry, I need -- I -- "

"Shhh," Harry whispers, and he pushes at another of George's new bruises, his huge hand almost able to wrap around George's thigh. "Yeah, you can."

"I _can't_ ," George insists, but if Harry says he can, then maybe he can. George closes his eyes and tries to focus, twisting his palm as he brings it up, his other hand clenched in the bedsheets beside him.

Harry's lips catch George's thumb on his downstroke this time, and the tip of Harry's tongue just barely touches the skin of George's finger -- and then the base of his cock -- and then _yes_ , he can, and George almost shouts as he comes, spilling everywhere all over his hand and his stomach and his chest.

Louis' hand bats at him from across the bed. "Shu'up, 's'early."

George can't respond, left in a daze as he sucks in as much air as he can. Had he stopped breathing, at some point? He must have, as there are loads of black spots in front of his eyes.

Harry, of course, just laughs. "Good morning, Boo." He gently takes George's hand and licks his thumb delicately.

Louis bats at the air ineffectually again. "Wankers... go 'way." The pillow _flumps_ as Louis decisively buries his head beneath it.

"He'll wake up properly in a bit," Harry mutters around George's thumb. "You've seen how he gets. So ornery in the mornings."

George can't quite... words, at the moment, so he settles for, "Nyuh?"

Harry seems to ponder that for a second. "I think so," he replies, a smile blooming on his face. He looks quite cheeky. George wishes he could do more than stare at him. Harry grins full-on and sits up, patting George's hip. "Come on, little Georgie. Let's go take a shower."

"Eh?"

"Yeah, come on, or I'll flip you out the bed again," Harry says, and George sits up, groaning, because as much as he doesn't want to get out of the bed, he doesn't want to be _thrown out_ even more.

"You're evil," he informs Harry. "Has anybody ever told you that? You are evil."

"A few people," Harry says agreeably. "Now, up up up, sometimes the water pressure goes a bit dodgy if you wait too long in the mornings. Ghosts in the pipes or whatever."

George scrubs his hands over his tired face, then immediately realizes that he's just wiped his own jizz all over his face and pouts at Harry miserably. "Why?"

Harry is too busy doubling over laughing at him to answer.

George turns to Louis for a kind face but is met with the sight of him burrowing even more deeply into his pillows. Well, no help there.

"Evil," he says again, swiping his wrist across his face.

"I told you to get out of bed," Harry says mildly, although he's still snorting. "The ghosts are rushing you to get to the shower. Come on, quick, before they fill that with your spunk, too."

"I hate you," George mumbles, but follows Harry. The bruises inside his thighs bump against each other with every step, and it's uncomfortable and prickly and wonderful.

He can imagine it, while he's walking onstage later with all the other acts, and his head's trying to make him nervous about getting voted off but with every step he'll just remember this. He smiles, his shoulders relaxing.

Harry is bent over the side of the bath when George finally finds the bathroom again, still not totally comfortable with the layout of Harry's ridiculous house. He's singing softly, and George is struck anew that Harry and Louis are _really_ talented -- and that they know exactly what he'll be feeling up onstage this evening.

"Find any more ghosts in the pipes?" George asks, sliding his hand over the curve of Harry's back. It's nice to think that he can just touch, sometimes. If he wants to.

Harry stands and turns so that George is holding him close enough to kiss; they do before Harry answers. "Not today. The pirate ghosts are off in Tortuga, I guess."

"I hope they have fun there." George nods, only half-aware of what he's saying. Mostly he just feels happy and sleepy and safe, and he can't stop touching his new bruises.

Harry kisses George's forehead, high up near the birds' nest of his morning hair. "Shower's ready."

"Okay." George closes his eyes. He might sway a little. "Are you coming in with me?"

"Yes," Harry says. "A warm flannel is all well and good, but I'm still pretty disgusting."

George smiles, leaning against Harry and hugging him. "Good. I might get lost otherwise, as everything in your house is so massive," he adds, pressing his fingers into a bruise on his wrist.

Harry leads George into the shower and edges him in close to the wall, the spray falling over them both as Harry muscles in for a long, stirring kiss. When he pulls back, George opens his eyes to catch his breath and sees the tiny droplets clinging to Harry's eyelashes, and it almost knocks his breath away again.

"You're unnaturally attractive," he sighs, frowning at Harry. "I don't know how anybody can handle it this early in the morning. I'm tired."

" _I'm_ unnaturally attractive?" Harry laughs. "Have you _seen_ your cheekbones, man? _Cheekbones_!"

"'S'harry prattling on about cheekbones again?" Louis' voice is raspy and scratchy and rather cross as he shuffles into the bathroom and peeks at them from between his fingers, guarding his eyes from the overhead lights. "'S'always doin' that."

"You look like you're going to fall over," George says sympathetically. "Did you want to share our shower? It's nice and warm. The ghosts haven't got into the pipes."

"Well, that's good." Louis seems entirely aware of the ghost pipe problem, as he doesn't react at all, just rubs at his eyes. "Sure you want me? Wouldn't want to interrupt all the cheekboning." He snorts. "Boning. Sorry, it's early, I'm not top form."

He draws the doors back and the air that follows him into the glass shower cube is cold enough that George really would believe there are ghosts. Louis shuffles straight into Harry's arms, pushing his face into Harry's chest like a needy kitten and making upset, whining noises until Harry scratches his wet fingers through Louis' hair.

It's so cute that George very nearly makes some sort of bizarre sound, a cross between a coo and a groan that gets stuck in his throat, thankfully. He flails his hand out to find soap and encounters nothing but slick porcelain because this shower is the size of the entire bathroom back at the hotel.

Harry looks up from where he's tucked his face down close to Louis' ears, murmuring soft things George doesn't need to hear. "Soap is on that back wall, yonder. It's four clicks South as the crow flies."

George gives Harry a thumbs' up and immediately regrets it. "Thanks, skipper."

"You two are so fucking weird." Louis heaves a sigh, but he has a smile lurking in the corners of his mouth, George can see it. "Why do I only seem to have sex with weirdoes?"

"Because we do whatever you tell us?" George guesses, fumbling around to find the soap again.

"Because you have a thing for weirdoes," decides Harry, rubbing his giant hands down Louis's hips.

"Oh, yes," Louis mutters. "I'd managed to forget."

He holds out one arm for George, and George slides in so Louis can kiss him, too, and it's... nice. It's exactly what George had wanted all week, just _being_ with them. 

The bruises, though, are an added bonus.

"I don't want to go," George whines, tucking his face against Harry's wet shoulder. "Can't they do the results show from here? I want to stay."

"You really want them to film you in the shower, covered in sex bruises, with two other guys?" Louis asks flatly. "Because trust me, Caroline will if you mention it. Olly probably, too, still working on cracking _that_ nut. But yeah, Caroline'll do it. It's kind of her dream come true."

Harry pinches Louis' bum. "Be nice."

"I guess not," George grumbles. "You said I can come back, though? After -- After we find out if we're through to next week?"

Louis kisses him again, and both Louis and Harry tuck their arms around George's waist and cuddle him close. 

"Absolutely yes," Harry says. "No matter what happens."

"And no matter what happens?" Louis asks, shifting a little guiltily, "You did really well and you guys were the best."

George smiles. "Thank you," he says softly. "Now, can one of you help me get all the hairspray out of my hair? Even though they're just going to put it back in once I go back," he mutters grouchily. "It'd stay in place all on its own."

Harry and Louis both smile and work their hands through his hair; Louis rubs down every inch of George's body with soap and hot water, too, kneading his muscles out with his hands until George feels a little jellyish and fuzzy and nice.

"I don't have clothes here," he realizes, a frown making its way across his face. "Am I going to need to wear yours again?"

Harry looks a little sheepish. "We should have had you get a bag ready to bring over last night. Sorry. Yeah, you can borrow whatever you want."

"Have things packed for tonight, though," Louis requests quietly, playing with George's wrist with the tips of his fingers. "You can leave some things here, if -- you want."

George smiles, because Louis looks almost shy, and it's incredibly cute. "I do want," he says in reply. "If it's okay."

"I wouldn't offer if it wasn't," Louis says seriously. "Really, I'm not kind enough to muck about with that."

"He's not," Harry says drily. "Louis isn't one to extend undue pleasantries, even whilst naked."

"Especially whilst naked," Louis corrects. "I'm most honest when I'm naked, I think. Everyone should be."

"I'll try to be?" George offers. "I'll try to be honest with you all the time, though."

Louis smiles as Harry shuts off the water, and then Louis wraps a towel over George's shoulders. "I know. It'll be easier now, I think."

"Yeah," George agrees, remaining still as Louis begins rubbing him dry. "Now that I know what you want from me. I can be better."

"No, love, now _we_ can mind you better," Louis corrects. "You didn't do _anything_ wrong."

"Sorry." George smiles sheepishly. "Used to things being sort of my fault. But if you say I didn't do anything wrong, I'll trust you."

Louis looks troubled, but Harry just steps out of the shower, shakes out his hair like a German Shepherd, and drops another towel on George's head.

"Nope," he declares. "No time for you to be sad. We've got to get some breakfast in you and then get you back to the Corinthia so you can win and come back here and get something else in you."

"It's not like I'm in the final, I can't really win." George is unable to stop the smile from lighting up his face, and he snorts at the end of Harry's sentence. "You're so cheesy. Does anybody fall for lines like that?"

Louis slowly raises his hand.

"Right," George amends slowly. "Forgot about that."

"I was young," says Louis with a solemn expression. "Young and naive. And horny. Easily seduced by the Styles."

George gives him a wide grin. "I know the feeling."

"He's a menace to society." Louis wraps his arms around George and squeezes. "You're going to be alright if we have to go when we drop you at the hotel?" he asks softly. "I don't want you to feel abandoned. We'll be coming back for you."

"No, I'm okay now," George promises, blushing a little. "I really -- I don't know why I was so upset yesterday, but I'm not usually like that." He frowns. "Please don't feel like you have to coddle me or baby me or whatever."

"It's not coddling or babying you." Louis frowns right back at him. "I've seen what happens if I don't take care of you when I'm supposed to. I don't ever want to see you like that again."

George doesn't know what to say -- doesn't know how to reassure Louis that there's no way he could have known -- so instead he just shuffles closer and gives Louis a squeeze.

Louis kisses George's damp mop of hair. "Come on, let's get you dressed," he says, hugging George for a bit longer before he lets go. "You'll want to pick from Harry's wardrobe; I'm too short and wide for you to get away with mine, I think."

"You're not short and wide," George protests, but Harry just shakes his head and mouths, _he's bragging about his arse_.

"Shut up," Louis says without looking at Harry, a hand on George's lower back as he guides him out of the room. "We can't all be long and have noodle-limbs, can we?"

"Is it bad?" George asks, and pushes at a bruise on his bicep again. "I've been going to the gym seven times a week and I didn't get chips the other day when Jaymi and Ella went to McDonalds."

Louis just stares at him for a moment. "I want to lick all of you," he says seriously, pulling George in for a quick kiss. "No time for that, though. Pick something out, don't mind Harry's horrendous taste in clothing."

"It's not that bad," George says. "He could use more colored trousers, though."

"You know, I've told him that. He doesn't listen, though. Wears too much black, that boy." Louis throws Harry a grin over his shoulder.

Harry shakes his head and, still completely nude, heads towards the stairs. 

"I'm going to make a fry-up!" he calls over his shoulder. "George, you aren't vegetarian or anything, are you?"

"No," George says back, looking a bit scandalized. "I'm from Bristol."

"Good show," Harry replies, barely audible now.

"Don't get bacon grease on your bits again!" Louis shouts after him. "I'm not going to kiss it better!"

"That was _one time_!" Harry calls back indignantly from downstairs as George hangs over the bannister, laughing. "And I was trying to show off!"

"He's always trying to show off," Louis tells George. "And he always gets bacon grease on his bits. Don't let him tell you different."

"I heard that!" Harry yells from downstairs, but Louis just puts a finger to his lips and shakes his head, stone-faced, at George.

"And that!" Harry calls again, and George giggles. Louis chivvies him to the bedroom.

"It's like you're living out an actual romantic comedy," George says, feeling out another bruise just above and behind his hip. "But it's your real life."

Louis looks quietly pleased, like maybe he's just glad that someone else has noticed. "Sometimes, it's like that. Yeah. When things are good."

"And things are good, now?" George doesn't want to get ahead of himself and start thinking he's a part of making it good or anything, because he's probably almost definitely not, but he can pretend he is, as long as Louis doesn't tell him he isn't.

Louis gives him another one of those small, private, Peter Pan-like smiles as he digs through one of Harry's dressers for a jumper for George. 

"Yeah, things are good," he says. "They're always better when we're not on tour. Get to be home, get to see our actual friends, get to see our families. Got to meet you," he says pointedly, and tosses George a big orange sweater.

"Will this suit?" George says doubtfully. He's trying not to glow at Louis' last comment. "I don't know that orange doesn't wash me out."

"You wore it in the live show last week," Louis points out. "Everything suits you. You and your _cheekbones_ , as Harry would doubtless point out."

"You remember what I wore in the live show last week?" George tugs the jumper over his head and shakes his hair out once it's down. "I don't even remember what I wore in the live show last week."

"I like clothes," Louis mutters. "Shut up."

"Didn't say there was anything wrong with it, did I?" George asks, holding his hands up in surrender. "I like this, anyway. It'll cover most of the bruises."

"Yeah, you're a mess," Louis says, and prods at an escaped bruise on George's wrist. "You look like you were attacked by an octopus."

"A sexy octopus." George pokes the same bruise. "Or, no, wait, that sounded awful, didn't it? No animals involved. Just Harry."

Louis snorts and throws a pair of jeans at George's head. He puts them on while Louis slides into trackies and another of Harry's oversize jumpers, and then they head down the stairs to find Harry in the kitchen, scowling at a cast-iron pan on the stove and swearing at a grease mark on the countertop at just about dick-height.

"Oh, for God's sake," Louis huffs. "I'm not kissing it better this time, I don't care how much you whine about it. This is why we put pants on when we fry things."

"It missed me this time," Harry informs him sulkily. "But it got my toes."

"I'm definitely not kissing those," Louis shoots back without a pause, and George breaks into laughter again. He wonders if he'll actually be able to eat, with them going back and forth like this.

He's starving, though, ravenous, and listening to Louis and Harry be cute at each other is less important when there's a plate of food in front of him.

Louis is the one to drive him back to the Corinthia this time, after, and they claim that it's because Harry doesn't feel like putting pants on today, but George has a sneaking suspicion that it's because they all know Jaymi, JJ, and Ella will be waiting for George's return and that they are not pleased with Louis at the moment.

To a point, George doesn't blame them, because he imagines whatever happened last night was as scary or scarier for them as it was for him, but he doesn't know how to make them stop blaming Louis for something neither of them knew was going to happen. When he finally checks his mobile, as Louis chatters about how he won't listen to Capital FM anymore because they're Wanted-loving _dicks_ and simultaneously backs the car out of the drive _and_ puts on his sunglasses, George discovers that he's missed 79 texts. About forty are from Ella; the rest come from Jaymi, JJ, and Jade, as well as the requisite few from his mum and Parisa and Melanie, bless her, telling him that he did so well the night before.

He winces. He probably should have checked them before now, everyone's got to be frantic at this point. He sends out the same text message to Jaymi, JJ, and Ella -- _i'm alright sorry!!!! louis is bringing me back now xx_ \-- and leaves the others, deigning them less important at the moment.

"I think the others might think you've damaged me beyong repair, so, sorry about that," he says, cutting through Louis's discussion with himself about bullshit radio stations with biases the size of the fucking moon. "I hope you don't get murdered."

Louis looks over at George. He can't see Louis' eyes, but his mouth is dropped a bit, aghast.

"George... I'm returning you _covered head to toe in bruises_. They're gonna think I beat you!"

"Most of them are covered!" George exclaims, tugging his sleeves down over the backs of his hands. "Oh, but I have to get changed in front of the 'J's. I'll just explain it to them?" he tries.

Louis sighs and looks back to the road, brooding a bit.

"I'm not going to let them think anything bad about you." George reaches over to touch Louis's arm. "It's still not really your fault, what happened."

"And the bruises really aren't," he adds hopefully. "Harry did all of them."

"Yeah, he does that. Make sure they know that bit was him, alright?" Louis offers a smile, and it's tired but it seems sincere. "Only joking. You can tell them what you want, it's not like I can force you to say anything."

George considers this, tilting his head. "Couldn't you? Couldn't you like, get me at the right moment and tell me to say or not say or think or not think... whatever, and I'd do it?"

Louis's hands clench around the wheel. "I... am going to hope that's an extremely hypothetical situation, and you don't think I'd actually do that to you." He sounds horrified.

"I didn't mean it badly," George says hurriedly. "Just... the internet, there's all these photosets on Tumblr and such of you telling Harry to say dumb shit on stage, and then he does. Couldn't you do that to me?"

"It's not like some sort of mind control, it doesn't work like that. I don't send Harry out on stage to do a show while he's _under_ , that would be irresponsible and awful." Louis taps his fingers on the wheel and sighs, fidgeting in his seat. "That's more of a game, really. He likes making people happy, making them laugh. He's always like that, not just when he's in his space. And anyway," Louis adds, and George can tell that he's rolled his eyes even though George can't see it, "We do that because our lyrics are dead stupid after the ten-thousandth time we've sung them. No offense to Savan or anything. It's good pop music, there's just a boiling point. You'll see. When you have to sing the word 'baby' as often as you inevitably will, you'll see."

"That sounds ominous." George coughs. "Sorry, I'm still new at all this, I don't know what you can and can't do. I don't mean to be offensive, if I am."

"You're not being offensive," Louis assures him, and takes one hand off the wheel to rest it on George's thigh, rubbing absently. "It's good, it's a reminder that -- not everyone is Harry, and there's stuff I have to do better. I know the... position I'm in, it's why we have hard time finding people to make it work. I want you to work, though."

"But there are people, who haven't worked." George holds his breath. He's still not sure if he's allowed to ask about this. Harry had said no last time, and he doesn't think Louis wants to talk about it _ever_.

A muscle tics in Louis' cheek. "Well, we're not still with Aiden, are we?"

"No, right, sorry." George turns to look out the window. Definitely not, then.

Then Louis sighs, and his hand is back on George's leg, squeezing carefully because he knows Harry bit bruises somewhere there. 

"I'm sorry," Louis murmurs. "I just -- I have my limits, too."

"I think I should probably just know not to ask, at this point," George half-laughs. It's not funny, because he really really hates making Louis upset, but he feels like it's either laugh or remain silent, and laughter fills space.

"No, that's not -- " Louis inhales sharply and blows the breath out just as fast. "I can't ask you to do things or tell things and be honest if I can't do the same. But it's hard for me, which... is why things get fucked up for me with everyone but Harry, who's just... always there, so he knows things. But I will try to sort it out in my head and tell you soon, okay?"

"I don't want you to, if it makes you uncomfortable," says George as firmly as he can. "That's not just a one-way thing, right? If I have things I don't like, you can have things you don't like, and I shouldn't force them or try to make you do things you don't want to do."

Louis smiles at him this time, and George smiles back.

When they get back to the hotel, Jaymi and Ella are, indeed, waiting for them in the lobby as promised.

"I'm really thinking I shouldn't have got out of the car," Louis mutters, ducking his head and pushing his sunglasses up his nose. "If they try to kill me, you'll save me, right?"

"I'll try," George promises. "But I can't really guarantee anything, seeing as I've just got _noodle arms_."

Louis looks properly chastened. "They're nice noodle arms," he says, squeezing George's shoulders. "Remind me of Harry's before he started growing like mad."

George sighs. "It's times like these that I wish I really were younger than Harry. I'd still have a chance."

"I brought him back!" Louis announces when they come within speaking distance of Jaymi and Ella. He's kept his sunglasses on despite their being indoors now, and George imagines it's probably so that he can hide his expressions more efficiently.

Ella does not look impressed. "I would slap your face if I were less of a lady." She holds up one hand before George can even open his mouth. "Shut it!"

"I do deserve this," Louis says quietly, pressing his fingertips to George's lower back. "She's right to be angry with me."

"Hey!" Ella says, and crosses her arms. "Stop telling George to think things. I looked it up on the internet, what you're doing. Stop doing it."

"Ella," George sighs, "I'm a grown man, I can choose what I want to do. And you've liked hearing about it before." He glances at Louis. "Sorry. She's really bossy."

"She's just concerned about you, and she's right to be." Louis pushes his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose again. "She can yell at me if she wants to. Well," he amends, "maybe not yelling."

"Stop being reasonable." Ella looks cross. "I want to be angry with you for breaking George."

"You should be angry with me," Louis agrees. "I did a really stupid thing and I should've known better. I did fix him, though?" he tries.

Ella opens her mouth again, but Jaymi puts a placating hand on her shoulder. 

"You did properly this time?" he asks, giving Louis a significant look. "And you explained everything and negotiated it all out before you told him that everything was alright?"

"We've talked about his limits, and he knows to tell me and Harry if anything upsets him or makes him uncomfortable." Louis meets Jaymi's gaze unflinchingly. "I didn't intend for any of this to happen."

Jaymi sighs. "Well, I didn't think you did. I just think you're really young and haven't learnt it properly. Haven't you ever tried to ask someone older who's been around for a while in the scene to teach you to look for signs? Because George was _really_ clingy all week."

George glances over at Louis and knows, maybe, what happened with Nick Grimshaw and Harry's drop and he doesn't really want it to come up now, not without Harry there to explain, too.

"I'm always clingy, though," George says, and waves a hand. "You've all seen that."

"He's right, I should've known what to look for," Louis cuts in. "There's a difference. I was stupid. I can't explain it any more than that."

He looks very small, and very tired, and very, very sincerely sorry. Jaymi considers him and nods slowly, looking between George and Louis.

Ella's arms are still crossed. "I don't ever want you to break George again."

"I don't want me to break George again, either." Louis takes his sunglasses off and hooks one of the legs onto the collar of his shirt. If George tried that, he'd look like a moron. Louis just looks cool. "And I can tell you, honestly, I'm going to do my best to make sure it never happens again."

Ella bites her lip. "I don't want you to hurt him, either. I don't like it, even if he's -- even if that's what you _do_ , I don't want you to hurt him."

George gives her a smile. "I don't want to be hurt either. Really, Ella Bear. It's okay. I'm not broken anymore, see?" He holds out his arms and spins.

His heel catches on the corner of the rug and he stumbles over a little. Yes, looks like a moron.

"Careful." Louis' mouth is twitching like he wants to smile, but he thinks the situation is still too serious. "You've got to be in one piece to get through to next week tonight."

George wrinkles his nose and sticks out his tongue. "Don't jinx us."

"I'm like a good luck charm," Louis insists. "You're going through, because you were fantastic last night. Much better than District However-Many."

George shakes his head and scuffs the side of his shoe along the floor.

"I've probably got to get going soon," Louis says regretfully as he catches a glimpse of the clock hanging near the reception desk. "If I'm not there, Harry might set fire to himself again."

Ella looks thoroughly disturbed, so Louis quickly puts out placating hands and explains, "He likes to cook naked."

Ella's face doesn't seem to know _what_ to do with that information, actually, and George has to giggle because -- well, everything seems silly, now. He _isn't_ broken anymore, and he was cuddled and coddled and fed and bathed and he feels really, rather lovely now.

Nervous as fuck for the results show, but otherwise really good.

"Is there anything we should do for him?" Jaymi asks. The way he's looking at George suspiciously seems a bit over-the-top. "To make sure he doesn't drop again?"

George glances at Louis and can see him weighing words in his mouth.

"Just make sure he feels appreciated?" Louis asks quietly, and these words are for Union J, not for Ella. "'Cause he should be."

It makes George feel embarrassed but glowing, as well. Especially when Jaymi just nods like that's something he was already going to do.

"Of course," says Jaymi seriously. "I'll make sure the others know."

" _All_ of them?" Louis clarifies, one eyebrow raised.

"Yes," Jaymi says. "I spoke to him last night, as well. He did try to help yesterday, too. It's getting better."

"See that it does." Louis slips his sunglasses back onto his face, smiling at Jaymi. "Thank you, for caring about him," he says in a lower voice.

Jaymi smiles. "Hey, I care about George for George, not for you. He's easy to care about, isn't he?"

Louis smiles at George, and slides his hand down his arm to press their hands together for a moment. "He is, yeah. Grown a bit fond of him."

George feels giddily happy, and he leaves his hand touching Louis' as long as he possibly can. It doesn't turn out to be very long, but it's enough time for him, he thinks, to hold him over.

He wishes that he could kiss Louis goodbye, but they're in a hotel lobby in the middle of London and he understands why he can't.

"I'll see you later, darling," Louis says in a low voice that George thinks must be meant just for him.

George beams and blushes -- and Louis meaningfully presses his thumb against one of the bruises on George's arm just before he walks away.

"You're _glowing_ ," Ella says to George in disbelief, or it sounds like disbelief. He can't tell the expression on her face when he's still watching Louis.

After Louis disappears around the corner, George finally looks to Ella and smiles. "I told you, I'm not broken anymore."

Ella doesn't answer immediately, instead flinging herself at George and burrowing into his arms. "You scared me," she mumbles. "You scared me a lot."

George tucks his face into Ella's hair. "I know I did. I'm sorry, Ella Bear. I didn't mean to, really."

"I know you didn't, but I really don't want that to happen again. So if it's going to, you'd better tell me, so I can strangle that Tomlinson and then help you."

George huffs a laugh into her shoulder. "Harry says it's only happened to him three times in two years, so I don't think it'll happen to me again soon. But I can't promise never."

"You're going to be alright today, though?" Ella squeezes him tight. "You know you have to see Micky and Greg and Dan? They're around here somewhere, and they'll be at the studio."

George looks abashed. "I don't have a problem with them, I just... I really wanted to do well again, like last week, and make -- people proud of me."

"Make _Louis_ proud of you," Ella supplies. "Yeah, I got that." She snuffles her face into his chest again and mumbles something George can't hear, so he rubs at her shoulder until she lifts her face and asks, timidly, "Does he -- were you _afraid_ of him, if you disappointed him?"

"No," George answers. He doesn't even have to think about it. "It wasn't like that. He's not hurting me, or anything, him or Harry. I wasn't afraid of him, I just -- I don't really know how to explain it," he says apologetically. "It was just like disappointing him was the worst thing I could possibly do."

Ella pulls a face. "Can't you just decide that scaring me is the worst thing you could possibly do, and then apologize profusely and give me cuddles and make me a coffee and buy my chocolate pastries, please?"

"Yes, I think I can." George grins at her before he lets go. "Did you want one of your terrible chocolate things now, then? I think we have time to get one if you let me get money first."

Ella nods, but keeps clinging to George -- so when he pulls away to head towards the elevator, one of Ella's fingers presses hard into a rosy bruise on George's ribs.

He inhales sharply to keep from making any other sort of incredibly awkward noise, but it still makes Ella look at him askance.

"You alright?" she asks him, her brow furrowing in concern.

George smiles, but he knows he's been caught. "I'm fine, Bear."

Ella pushes the door for the elevator and continues to frown at him. "Are you?" She presses her fingers to the same place she'd pushed into before, and digs her fingers in a little.

George sucks in a breath again, and, to his mortification, starts to get hard, which he desperately hopes Ella doesn't notice.

He's very grateful when the doors to the elevator open and people pile out, leaving it empty. He gets inside as quickly as he can, prodding the button for their floor harder than is probably necessary to get it to light up.

Ella doesn't let up once the doors close, though. She presses even closer and pokes at the offending patch of George's ribs.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Look, can you not do that?" George bats at her hands. He doesn't know if he can deal with the horror if Ella accidentally gives him a hard-on, and he's teetering on that edge right now. "Please?"

"Why?" Ella stops poking him, but gives him a searching look instead. "Let me see."

"Ella, I'm not taking my shirt off in the lift," George huffs. He folds his arms over his chest, lest she get any ideas. "Come on, leave it alone."

"No." Ella touches his arm, and there's no way she could know, but her fingertips are pressed against another bruise sucked into the meat of George's bicep. "Now I'm suspicious, George. What's up?" She frowns. "You always like cuddles. And tickles; you think they're uplifting."

"Because they are." George smiles at her. "I don't mind cuddles, I mind you poking at me. Let it go."

Ella bites at her thumbnail. "I can still cuddle with you, then? Louis hasn't like... forbidden it?"

"Of course not! He isn't evil, and it's not like we're -- you know, dating, or anything." George grabs her hand and smiles at her. "It's just sex, basically. That I can't get from anybody else. And don't want from anybody else."

Ella lets her hand drop from his arm, but she doesn't step away. "I did look it up, you know. After you left, I talked to Jaymi and he didn't want to tell me, on account of I'm young, but I'm not _that_ sheltered, George. I know what you're doing with them, and it just -- it doesn't really make sense to me why you'd want that? After being hurt your whole life by bullies, why _why_ would you want Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles to -- "

"They're not hurting me, and it's not like the bullies," George says in a voice that's a lot sharper than he means it to be. Ella looks hurt, and George never wants that. He sighs. "I'm sorry, Ella Bear, I just, it's not like that. They're not hurting me. They only give me what I want, now that they know what that is."

Ella peers up at him through her eyelashes. "What I saw when I looked it up didn't seem very... want-able. It was sort of the opposite of uplifting, if I'm honest."

"I don't know how to explain it in a way you'll understand," George admits. "It's like... You know how I told you, sometimes it's like I leave my own head? And I'm just floating and it's fuzzy and nice?"

"Yeah, but I don't see how that makes being hit with belts and stuff any better," Ella says in a hushed voice, "Unless it's like, a trauma response. And then you broke down last night, and... I'm just a bit worried, still."

"They're not hitting me, I told them I wouldn't do that." George clears his throat. "Right, look, they're not going to do anything I've told them I don't want. I said I didn't want to be hit, so they won't hit me. I trust them not to do that. I still don't really understand why that happened last night," he says in addition, "but it's happened to Harry before, too, I guess. And he's alright."

Ella looks a little murderous. "That just makes me trust Louis even less!"

"No, it's not like," George sighs, frowning. "It only happens when he's not there, basically. To -- to tell me that I did good." His face flames. "I really never wanted to tell you about the sex things I'm into."

"Yeah, I noticed that," Ella says drily, "But this is obviously more than just sex, whether you want to admit it or not. If it makes my George Monkey turn into a sobbing mess on the floor making high-pitched distress noises, then..." she trails off.

"It's not his fault, not really," George says, his voice quiet even though Louis can't hear and berate him for saying that. "He didn't know that I didn't know what was happening. I think he thought I was just dealing with it myself, but I wasn't."

Ella nuzzles against his arm again. "And you don't have to, really, is all I'm saying. I don't want you to deal with it alone, and you can't just live in their bed, so... can you trust me, please?"

"I do trust you." George lets out a slow breath and then takes it back in. "Okay. Okay, yeah, I do, I trust you. What do you want from me? I don't want you to be sad, but I think I might need this, from them."

"I just need to know that you're safe," Ella whispers, and she looks so old and so young in the same moment. "And that you're not -- you aren't doing this to punish yourself for something."

"It's sort of the opposite," George says as he pulls her closer. "It's like I'm finally getting exactly what I want."

"But you were so excited about getting tested, and like, I know the papers aren't true all the time because clearly we're not dating each other, but... Harry _Styles_..."

"He's not with anybody but Louis." George doesn't even need to spend time with them for that long to know that. They look at each other like nothing George has ever seen before. "Like, I'm sure of that. If you'd seen them together, you'd know it too."

"But on weekends, they have you," Ella points out. She bites her lip, considering, then asks, "How do you know they don't have a bunch of you's during the week?"

A fair question, probably. George shakes his head. "I don't think they trust people, very much," he murmurs. "It's weird, with me. They probably shouldn't trust me as much as they do."

He's not going to tell Ella about watching them together, the way Harry submitted so easily or the way Louis looks at Harry when he's not paying attention. Those things aren't meant for Ella, and they're probably not meant for him, either, but he appreciates them all the same.

Ella is quiet, as they disembark the elevator, but she follows George along to his room. It's quiet when he opens the door, Jaymi off somewhere else -- probably letting JJ know that George is alright and that Louis Tomlinson has been sternly talked to -- and even though George is washed and rather likes wearing Harry's clothes, he's glad to get back into his own.

He doesn't actually think about it as he pulls the jumper off, rooting through his closet for that t-shirt with the tribal design.

Ella makes a strangled sort of gasping sound behind him, and that's when he remembers exactly what his torso looks like right now, what he's been hiding from Ella since they were in the lobby. He clutches his shirt to his chest like that'll do any good.

"You said they weren't hurting you!" Ella accuses, her hands clutched to her face. "You -- okay, you did not look like that when you left yesterday; _what_ did they do to you and _how_ am I supposed to think it made you feel _better_ after all that crying?"

"I asked him to," George says over the end of her sentence. "I like it, alright? The bruises, I like them, it's not, it's good-hurting, not bad-hurting."

"You said they weren't hitting you!"

"It's biting, not hitting." George offers one of his arms. "They're lovebites. See?"

Ella raises an eyebrow. "There is no way lovebites could be that dark."

George smiles impishly at her. "Wanna bet?"

Ella's eyes go round and she backs up two steps. "Sure. I'll take twenty to one you'll never catch me!"

"Eleven-four," George challenges, taking two steps closer again -- and then Ella gives chase, shrieking a little.

George doesn't actually grab her, of course; even if he did want to give Ella any lovebites, they really do need to get going if she wants any of her chocolate things. He pulls on his shirt instead, checking to see if it covers all the little bruises that he needs it to.

They run out of the lobby and up the street to Costa, and still barely make it back before the vans arrive to load for Fountain Studios. George is too busy the rest of the day to really think about much of anything. It's normal; they have to rehearse for the group song and discuss stage positioning and important thing after important thing. George only has time to occasionally press on one of his bruises to feel it's still there.

When they go to to dress him, though, he has to hide in a cupboard to change into his shirt and waistcoat, and he runs his hands over the constellations of rosy-gold blue bruises all over his chest and belly before he buttons up the red shirt.

The smile on his face must look a little off when he rejoins the others, because JJ gives him a weird look and asks, "You alright there, Georgie?"

He gives them a wrinkle-nosed grin, but knows his eyes are too bright. "Yeah, I'm really good."

Jaymi looks him over for a second and then snorts. "I'm getting like a contact boner or something," he sighs. "I miss Olly."

George blushes and ducks his head, wishing that he could fiddle with his hair without destroying the curls it takes ages to put in.

"Are you going to be able to go out there without having a fit?" Josh asks, adjusting the collar of his shirt in the mirror.

"Yeah, I'm fine," George says softly, but Jaymi talks over him.

"Don't be a prick to George," he says, holding Josh's elbow. "Even if he were upset, you being such a fucking dick wouldn't help our chances."

Josh remains expressionless for a moment, adjusting his hair with his other hand. "Sorry," he finally says, his shoulders relaxing. "Just. Nervous."

"I'm nervous, too," George offers, meeting Josh's eyes in the mirror.

JJ slings his arm around George's shoulders on one side and Josh's on the other. "We're all nervous, lads."

"Yeah, we are." Josh laughs, except it's so shaky it might not count as one. "I'm sort of glad it's not just me."

"We're going to be alright," Jaymi says decisively. "We'll just keep working hard and getting better and it'll be alright."

"We'll be great. We're good and everyone likes us," says George. He sounds, to himself, like he's repeating something he's heard, but for the life of him he can't recall.

The group performance goes as well as it could; there are still enough contestants that the groups don't really have to _do_ much besides sing the chorus and hop around to where they're supposed to go, which suits George fine. He really, really can't dance.

The bruises on his thighs keep rubbing against each other, so it's easy to keep his smile on even as the results draw closer and closer. He just has to push his thumb into his hip if he needs a bit extra, and it's like the simplest, shortest wait he's ever had.

He's prepared to wait until the end -- he's prepared to be in the bottom two -- but then Dermot calls Union J _first_. Before anyone. Before District fucking 3. Before _Ella_ , even although she's next, and she runs across the stage so George can gather her up in his arms.

George's legs nearly give out under the wave of relief that they're both through, and he doesn't want to let Ella go, basically, because it's like every Sunday he's forcefully reminded that any week his friends could go home.

And then they _do_. George wishes it were more of a surprise that MK1 are voted out, but it isn't. It's still a disappointment, though, because Charlie is the coolest person he's ever met, basically, and he liked to borrow Sim's snapbacks.

He's the weirdest mixture of subdued and giddy for the rest of the night, then, because he _is_ sad that MK1 are out, but he knows that the longer he waits, the closer he gets to seeing Harry and Louis again.

By the time he's almost done with his Xtra interview, he's so excited and happy that he starts dancing for no reason at all and has to pretend that it's because he loves Halloween so much.

He does actually quite like Halloween, but not nearly as much as he likes Harry, and Louis, and sex, and sex with Harry and Louis. Halloween doesn't really compare.

George has always loved a good Halloween trick, but -- puns aside -- Louis and Harry waiting for him back at the Corinthia is the biggest treat that he could have gotten tonight, even more than being called first for the next show (as long as Union J were called at all, natch). Louis chatters praise at George the whole time Harry is picking out clothes for him to wear tomorrow and packing his bags for him, and George is positively buzzing.

It's nice, this, like he's in the floating place but not quite. It's enough to keep a smile on his face but he can still walk and speak in response to things that Louis says.

He doesn't need to answer much, though, because Louis fills up the silence easily. George thought Harry talked a lot, but he thinks it might just seem like it because it takes Harry ages to say a sentence. Louis just talks and talks, alternating between telling George that his dancing was really cute and telling Harry that he's taking the entirely wrong route when they're driving back to their house.

"I am not," Harry insists. "I know how to get home. I'm easily as smart as a homing pigeon."

"Aren't those extinct?" George asks, and tucks his head onto Louis' shoulder in the backseat.

"Yeah, and we will be, too, if Harry doesn't take this right turn," Louis replies, curling his arm around George's waist. "That's the awful neighborhood, I know what I'm talking about, don't turn left."

"Louis!" Harry sighs, and turns left. " _You're_ the one with no sense of direction. You thought we had to fly over the Pacific to get to America the first time."

"I'm still not so sure we didn't!" Louis fires back. "There were at least twelve oceans we flew over; one of them had to be the Pacific one."

Harry rolls his eyes and looks to George in the rearview mirror. "As you can see, my ulterior motive in bringing you home is just so I can have someone less _completely ridiculous_ to talk to."

"I don't know that I'm any less ridiculous," says George thoughtfully, but he's already flushed with pleasure at the thought that they do like him for more than sex. "I know which ocean is which, though."

"Ugh," Louis sniffs. "You all disgust me, with your geography. I know other things." His voice lowers a little as he slips his fingers beneath George's thermal and presses against a bruise on the crest of George's hip. "Better things."

George can't suppress a shiver, or the small noise he makes as he moves closer to Louis. "Much better things," he agrees weakly. "Oceans are stupid."

Louis tries to maintain his seductive facade, but can't hold in his snort of laughter. George just likes the way it crinkles the corners of Louis' eyes, makes the blue look even bluer.

"Can I have a kiss?" he requests, because it feels like the sort of kiss you should ask for.

Louis smiles indulgently and slides his hand futher up inside George's shirt, thumb gently caressing over George's warm skin. "You can have whatever you want."

George isn't sure if he'll ever stop smiling. This is the best he's felt all week, and he leans heavily against Louis' shoulder as he leans into the kiss.

Louis thumb brushes over George's nipple, still hidden by his shirt. "What _do_ you want, George? We still need to talk about what makes you happy, what doesn't. What do you want?"

"I don't know, I like a lot of things." George shrugs as well as he can, which isn't very when he's all draped over Louis. "I like what we've been doing, a lot."

"Mmm, I'm glad for that," Louis murmurs, nuzzling at George's neck with his lips. "What do you _not_ like? Besides me getting your cock out in public, but I'm not gonna lie, I really like doing that."

"It's okay -- sometimes," says George haltingly. "Just, like, when I didn't know Harry was driving, last time, that made me feel really itchy, sort of? And nervous; I didn't really like that."

Louis makes a contemplative little sound. "Alright." He pauses, still petting at George's chest under his shirt. "Is this alright, then?"

"Yeah." George feels content, and a little sleepy, but mostly just happy. "I like this. I know it's Harry driving, now."

Louis hums, his fingertips petting down over the faint hair beneath George's navel, just barely peppering down to the waistband of George's trousers. "Since it's only Harry... can we get your cock out, then? Harry already got to make you come today; it's my turn."

George smiles a little, relaxing against the seat and nodding. "Yeah, yeah, you can," he urges, watching the movement of Louis's fingers.

Louis' eyes light up, black overtaking the blue. "Thank you, George." He kisses George's lips once as slowly, the heel of Louis' hand rubs a barely-there circle over the front of George's trousers.

A low noise punches its way out of George's throat, a breathy little _uh_ that he didn't know he had in him. His hips want to grind up against Louis' palm, but he determinedly keeps them down.

"It's okay," Louis murmurs. "I like how responsive you are. Harry, too, you're both -- you're so tightly wound, I like being able to loosen you up. No pun intended, actually. For once."

George spares a breathless laugh, but mostly he's caught up in the flare of low-burning heat weaving its way into his belly, _astonished_ at how he's become so hard so quickly, just from the light touch of Louis' hand and a little praise.

If he's honest, he's been hovering on the edge of this all day, just simmering below arousal. He feels too warm but to take off his jacket, he'd need to push Louis away, and he's not going to do that.

"Feels good," he says, though Louis can obviously see that. George's cock isn't making a secret of how much he likes what Louis is doing and saying to him.

Louis kisses him. "Good. Lift up your hips."

George does, without thinking, bracing his shoulders against his seat and his feet against the floor of the car to get his arse off the seat a bit. He hums under his breath. This is definitely good-fuzzy.

"Really good, George," Louis whispers, and eases the soft trousers down George's thighs. "You're doing really well, and no one is looking but me, alright? And you're gorgeous, look at you, so big and hard, you're so pretty."

It's like George is tingling all over. He wants to thank Louis for saying such nice things but it doesn't seem important, really, and he can't be bothered to open his mouth when he feels this nice. Instead, he hums again, pushing his fingers against Louis' ribs and hoping he understands.

"Thank you, George," Louis whispers again. His hands run over the bruises on George's hips. "Harry really got you, didn't he?"

George can feel a low, tiny ache wherever Louis' palms press in against his marks -- Harry's marks -- and he hums again. He should probably talk, actually. They said that he should tell them when he likes things, or something, he can't quite remember now.

"Mm-uh," he tries, thinking through syrup, it feels like. "It's good," he finally states.

Louis' lips are warm and gentle where they brush against George's cheek. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Mm-hmm." George can't actually recall feeling more alright anytime recently. He nuzzles into Louis' neck and sighs happily.

Louis nips at the curve under George's jaw, his teeth just enough to sting and make George hiss. "I really want to get your cock in me right now. Can I?"

"Yes," George agrees. He can't imagine he'd deny Louis anything right now. That makes him frown for a moment, though. He thinks they maybe don't like it when that happens, but he's not sure how to ask if something might be wrong. He still feels all good-fuzzy and warm in his head and his hands and down to his toes. Can anything actually be wrong when he feels this nice?

"George," Louis murmurs, "Can you look at me please? Look at my eyes."

That, he can do. George blinks slowly and tilts his head up, looking back at Louis. Louis is very close to him, actually. George likes it. He hopes Louis doesn't move.

Louis gives George an encouraging smile. "Do you want to have sex in this car right now?"

"Yes." George smiles back, sure of it. He remembers what it's like to fuck Louis, and it's an experience he'd love to repeat.

Louis grins. "Great. Good, yeah, I'm glad."

"I like when you smile," says George thoughtfully. It's easier to talk when he's not thinking through syrup. He might be speaking more slowly, but he's not sure. Maybe he's doing an impression of Harry without knowing.

Louis' cheeks and the tips of his ears go pink. It's adorable, George thinks. "Thanks."

And then Louis' shucking his own trackies and straddling over George's lap, and Harry turns a corner, the car shushing down a dark side street, and holy fuck, George is actually having sex in the backseat of a moving car right now.

He still wants to, even though it's like the realization's only just hit him. He's never had sex in a car before. It'll probably be fun.

"Do we have stuff?" he asks, tipping his head back against the seat to compensate for the height Louis's position gives him. "Don't want to hurt you."

Louis looks mischievous as only Louis Tomlinson can. "I'm ready to go. And didn't you get tested and come back clean?"

"Yes!" George feels a surge of delight as he remembers that he doesn't need to use a condom anymore. He can fuck Louis bare. He's going to fuck Louis bare. "I am clean," he says, like he's reminding Louis. "Don't need a condom."

Louis smirks, lifting George's hand to his mouth. "Good boy."

He sucks at the tips of two of George's fingers, his eyes never leaving George's face so they're locked onto each other, and it makes George feel a little shaky and bright and if he could think, he'd mostly be praying that he doesn't come before he even gets into Louis this time.

Louis pulls off George's fingers, leaving them shining. "I've been waiting all day for this. All week, if I'm honest, maybe two." He leans in and bites softly at George's ear before he whispers, "Harry spent most of the afternoon before your show getting me ready to take you straight off. D'you want to just check, or do you trust him?"

"Can I?" George breathes, his eyes gone wide at the thought. He really wants to feel, not because he doesn't trust Harry, but because the thought of Louis all ready to be fucked is so overwhelming that he needs a moment.

Louis just nods and kneels up, back hunched so he can keep balanced over George's thighs in the cramped height of the car's backseat before guiding George's hand down between his legs.

George presses hesitant fingers against Louis' hole and sighs when he encounters no resistance, his fingertips slipping right inside. Louis is still tight because he always is, like some sort of porn Superman, but he's all slick and open and ready to be filled.

"Oh, my god," George groans, and it's like he can't quite catch his breath because Louis Tomlinson is happening.

Louis smirks like he knows. "Brace your hands on the seat. There's a good boy -- just let me do all the work since you've been so good, okay? You deserve it."

George lowers his hands to the seat, though he feels like he'll need something to hold on to and the slippery vinyl that most of the car's interior is made out of isn't the best for that.

"I've been good," he repeats softly. "I've been so good."

"Yeah," Louis whispers, and then George can't really think straight because the tight, slick heat of Louis is easing down over his cock, squeezing him tight. "Yeah, you're really good, George. That's it. Oh, you're exactly perfect, okay? Keep still."

George keeps as still as he can, even though it feels like his thighs are shaking and his fingers are scrabbling for purchase against his seat. He's breathing deeply through his mouth, deep, gasping breaths because otherwise he doesn't think he'll be able to get enough air in his lungs.

He tries to focus on something, anything, other than the achingly slow, steady pressure of Louis seating himself on George's dick: the soft rumble of the engine, Harry's reflection in the windshield as he pretends he's not watching what's happening in the backseat, the soft roar of the wind and road alongside the car. But that just reminds George that they are, really, in public, that any car could pull alongside and _see_ , and if someone looked in through those windows they would get a glimpse of George's cock sliding up into Louis' arse, his thighs pale and thin between Louis' spread ones. He thinks about how embarrassed he'd be if that happened, but Louis wouldn't be embarrassed, would he? Louis likes putting on a show, that much had been obvious last night, and all the times before then that he'd touched George or wound him up with that smile on his face.

George shivers again, one of his hands moving from the seat to grip Louis's hip before he remembers that he's not supposed to move his hands and he snatches it away.

"That's a good boy," Louis pants, his eyes shut. He bites his lip, his chest lifting, before he exhales slowly and takes the last fat inch of George's dick, and George can only make a choked, grateful noise.

He couldn't ever get used to this, or bored of it, he knows that now. Louis obviously knows what he's doing because even though he isn't moving, really, in George's lap, he's clenching muscles and his arse sometimes flutters around George's cock a little and it's gorgeous, Louis is gorgeous, everything is gorgeous.

He watches Louis' mouth, his lip going pink and then white and then red as he bites it and releases, soothing over with the tip of his tongue, getting used to the size of George inside him.

"I want to touch you," says George hopefully. His hands are back where they're supposed to be, down next to his thighs, but Louis looks too good not to be touching.

Louis tilts his head, rolls his shoulders, looks calm and serene as he considers. "Do you think you deserve it?"

Well, how is George supposed to know that?

"I've been good," he says, wondering if that might be it. Louis said he was good, he said he was very good. "I've been very good."

He tries to think, but then Louis is lifting himself up, rocking on George's cock, and it's sort of all George can do not to choke on his own tongue.

"You have been good," Louis accepts. George doesn't understand how he can sound so unaffected. He's fucking himself down onto George and he barely sounds winded.

Louis hums appreciatively. "Go on then, you can touch my hips or my arse, but not my prick. Not yet."

George nods, wide-eyed, and settles his hands on Louis.

His skin is so smooth under George's palms, miles of tan and muscles moving and bones underneath. Louis' cock looks so hard it might hurt, but George knows he can't touch, not yet. He slides his hands down over the swell of Louis' bum and moans when he can feel where he's disappearing inside.

"It's nice," Louis agrees. He doesn't pick up his pace at all, and it's just too shy to be enough and will, definitely, drive George mad. "Do you want to get a finger in, too? Feel from the inside?"

"Won't that hurt?" George asks, but he has one fingertip already teasing at the stretched rim of Louis's hole, and he knows he wants to, so badly.

Louis touches George's chin, then, lifting his face so he has no choice but to look Louis in the eye. 

"I'm not going to tell you to hurt me, alright?" he says. "If I ask for it, I want it."

"Okay," George whispers, keeping his eyes on Louis' as he presses his finger forward. It doesn't slip in; it takes a moment where George is sure Louis' arse just can't handle it, but then it pops past the ring of muscle and George's finger is inside, edging alongside his cock.

Louis' eyes shut tight and he holds his breath a moment, thighs trembling where he's still suspended over George's lap, not moving, but then he hisses, relaxes, and starts moving again, although he has to brace his hands on George's shoulders now.

"It feels so good," George says, his words wavering as he tries not to move a muscle. He just knows that if he does, he'll come, and Louis hasn't told him he can do that.

He can't really worry about that, though. Or anything. He's gone over to that floaty space, the sweet one, and all he can think about is Louis, Louis, the smell of him heady and spicy and sweat-sour crowding in over George, and the tiny groaning moans he's trying to suppress down in his throat, and the way his blue eyes are just a little wet but not as wet as his lip. And the feel of him, so, so, so achingly tight around George's cock and his finger and the shake of his hard thighs alongside George's and how hard his fingers are clenched on George's shoulder, the tip of one pinkie digging into one of Harry's bruises. 

"I can't," gasps George, his eyes clenching shut as he tries to stave off his orgasm. "I can't, I can't." He doesn't even know what he's saying he can't do, really, but he says it again anyway.

"George?" Louis' voice cuts through the daze, and George opens his eyes, fluttering a little because _Louis_ is there and he really, really likes Louis. "Are you alright?"

"Fuzzy," George replies promptly, his other hand pushed up the side of Louis' shirt to touch his ribs. "Good-fuzzy. A lot." He shakes his head in frustration. Why can't he just talk?

Doesn't matter. Louis' skin is so nice, warm. George smiles faintly as he watches his fingers move across Louis' ribs and across his belly.

"George, look at me."

George looks up at Louis, and his eyes are huge and blown-out black and he just feels _good_.

"Green, yellow, or red?" Louis asks gently, keeping very still even as his breathing is a little ragged.

Right, the colors thing. "Green," he says slowly, because he doesn't want Louis to stop. He feels so good, he wants to go, go, go forever.

Louis hesitates for a minute before nodding, and he leans in to press a kiss to George's forehead. 

Right, then. No kisses on the mouth while he's all floaty, George remembers sadly. 

"Can I still kiss you?" he asks. "Not on the lips?"

Louis smiles softly at him, tucking some of George's hair back from his forehead. They're both rather sweaty, George thinks. "Yes," Louis says, adjusting his position so that he can lean closer to George.

George can feel the strain in Louis' body, how much tighter he gets just from changing the angle that bit, and George moans low in his chest with gratitude and appreciation and _wow_ he likes Louis a whole lot.

He attaches his mouth to Louis' neck, kissing the damp skin there over and over, not sure whether to bite so he doesn't.

"I don't like the bruises as much as you do," Louis says in George's ear, his voice low but firm. "Gentle."

George nods right away, sighing against Louis' shoulder as Louis begins to move again, pulling up and dropping down hard in a smooth rhythm. "Okay."

"You've got such a lovely mouth, George," Louis murmurs to him, keeping himself tucked close. "So pink and soft. You're so lovely."

George is pleased, warm brightness welling up in his chest to cut through the floaty white syrupy softness, and he nestles his face into Louis' chest as best he can while Louis fucks himself down on George's cock and finger, the rest of George's hand still splayed out over the round of Louis' bum.

"Do you feel like you might come, George?" Louis asks in George's ear, his voice more wrecked than it was at the start. George likes feeling like he's had some sort of an effect.

George smudges his face into Louis' shoulder. "D'you want me to come?"

"I want you to let me come first, before you do." Louis sounds serious. "Can you do that for me?"

George kisses Louis' neck again, hesitating, but Louis pulls back a little and touches George's chin again.

"You can say you can't," he reminds him. 

"I can try?" George offers.

"Do your best," Louis instructs, quickening his pace slightly. "I won't be angry with you if you can't."

He hisses in a breath and then shakes his head to flick his fringe out of his eyes. "You can touch my cock now," he adds after a moment.

George hesitates, then makes his best guess and carefully slides his finger out of Louis on an upstroke, and Louis groans throatily as he slides back down on only George's cock.

It feels amazing in that moment, like he's surprised Louis in a good way. George is still smiling as he touches his fingertips to the length of Louis' prick, wanting to get him off quickly so that George can come, but sure that Louis wouldn't appreciate it.

He wraps his hand around Louis' dick, and is a little dismayed through his haze that it doesn't seem like he's as hard as he ought to be while giving George such a thoroughly good fucking, but then again taking a dick and _more_ at the same time probably hurt more than he let on.

George takes a moment to lick his palm, suck on his fingers, before taking Louis' cock in his hand again, and this time he can feel it start to stiffen up like magic under his touch.

"Good boy," huffs Louis with an open-mouthed grin, his eyes dark and pleased as he praises George. "Such a good boy for me, George."

George has to press his lips together to keep from making the thrilled noises that are brewing in his throat, and instead his brain buzzes with _get Louis off, get Louis off, make Louis come_. He works his hand on Louis in long tugs, thumbing at the lip of the head before swiping over and collecting a bauble of pre-come on the pad of his finger.

"Oh, so good so good so good for me," Louis croons. His rhythm falters a little, his hips stuttering.

George has to moan at that, watching Louis' face break open, calm facade cracking into a pinched _ooh_ and a gush of wet over George's hand and then a flick of tongue, a softly relaxed moue, a glimmer of contented blue eyes.

 _Louis is_ beautiful _,_ George thinks.

"You did exactly what I told you, I'm so pleased with you," Louis says, his words coming out lazy and a little slurred. "You've done so well today."

George smiles, and knows his face is sweaty and his hands are wet and he's _aching_ to come. He's never really come right inside another person before, not without a condom, and he's going to come _inside_ Louis and stay there and once, once upon a time, Harry had told him that if that happened, maybe he could lick it back out.

"Go on, love," Louis tells him, his face open and affectionate and content. He looks so sweet like this, with all his armour down and his feelings so plain on his face. "You deserve it, you can now, I want you to."

George thinks he might actually sob twice when he comes, pushed up deep in Louis, and it sucks him down deeper into the floating amber-gold honey fog, making him tremble and shiver and it seems to go on for _ages_ , like he's never fucking come before and it's going to make as big a mess as the first time explosive all over his sheets before he'd ever heard of a Louis Tomlinson. He can't even feel his fingertips. He's not actually sure he still has _legs_.

When George comes back around to himself, Louis is cradling his head in the crook of his elbow, whispering little soothing sounds into George's ear. So George still has ears, at any rate, and he thinks he can feel his toes, too, maybe. He's not sure of any of it, still dizzy in his head and blissfully drifting in clouds the color of butterscotch.

"That's really good, George, that was perfect," Louis whispers, kissing George's ear. "Thank you."

George noses against Louis' cheek happily and sighs. He doesn't think he'll be able to move ever again. He doesn't want to move ever again.

Louis kisses over George's cheekbone again, his hands rubbing briskly over George's arms like he's come apart at the seams, scuffed, and Louis needs to polish him back together. "We're nearly home now. How do you feel?"

"Can't," George says, shrugging his shoulders a little. He thinks. He might not move at all. "Feel. Legs?"

"Well, I've been sitting on them a while and I'm heavy," Louis says wryly, and Louis can feel him wink against George's nose where Louis is nuzzling at George's jaw and the corners of his mouth. "Do you feel anxious? Sad? Nervous?"

"Happy," George decides, a laugh escaping his mouth without permission. "Nice. I feel nice. I like you."

Louis doesn't laugh at him, though. Louis takes him very seriously, nuzzling his nose against the pulse in George's neck. 

"You're very pleasant like this," Louis remarks after he's satisfied that George's heart is actually beating normally. "You're sweet, George. Lovely. And very good."

George feels about to burst with good feelings, so instead he kisses Louis' neck. "I miss kissing you," he says sadly. "Your lips. They're nice lips."

Louis murmurs against George's temple. "If you kiss me, then you can't play with Harry tonight. What do you want?"

George whines. He wants kisses, but Harry hasn't got off, yet, he's been driving this whole time and he's a saint or something for it. He deserves to have George. "I'll be good for Harry," he mumbles.

"Hey," Louis asks gently, "Is that what you _want_?"

"I want to be good for Harry," George says louder, nodding his head.

Louis smiles and kisses George's hair. "Good boy; he'll like that. What do you want from him?"

George doesn't know if he can even make into words all the things he wants from Harry. He wants to suck Harry's cock and he wants to feel him all big inside again and he wants to make Harry happy. "Whatever he wants," George concludes, because that's what's most important, is pleasing Harry.

"No, no, no," Louis clucks gently, nosing at George's fake curls. "That's -- you're still new, love. What do you _not_ want, then?"

"Don't hit me," George says decisively. "Can we -- Inside?" he says, his hands rubbing over Louis's hips again.

"Yeah, we're nearly there. Harry had to take a roundabout way to avoid the big roads," Louis whispers conspiratorially. "Do you want to put your trousers back on properly before we go inside?"

"Yes." Now that he's come, he feels a bit weird being so exposed, even if Louis is still covering most of the naked parts of him.

Louis lifts up from George's lap, shameless. He kisses one of the bruises on George's hipbone again and urges him quietly to budge up so he can pull George's trousers back up to his waist.

George obeys, thinking about how Louis is probably dripping with him now, George's come inside him. It gives him a little thrill he wasn't expecting so soon after his orgasm.

Louis just gives him a mischievous smile, though, and rummages around trying to get his own trousers back on the proper legs while ensconced in the not-so-roomy backseat of the car. George still feels easy, loose, a little floaty, but he's back to himself enough that he laughs at Louis in a delighted giggle when Louis conks his head on the ceiling trying to get both legs into the same trouser-hole at once.

"Oh, you think that's funny?" Louis wrinkles his nose at George, finally shoving his foot where it's supposed to go. "Laughing at me?"

"Yes," George says honestly, feeling warm and unglued, like his hinges have all been oiled. "It _is_ funny."

"You're funny," Louis counters, leaning over to kiss George's head. He carefully lowers himself to his seat, leaning against George's shoulder. "Are we almost home, then?" he calls to Harry.

Harry blinks, then glances at them in the rearview mirror and smiles. "Louis, you are honestly the worst at directions ever. We're on our street."

George strings together the threads of a joke, even though he has to pull them together through the warm wax in his head. "Is that why your band can only go in One Direction? Because otherwise Louis couldn't come along?"

A sort of incredulous, nasal noise comes from Louis, choked and amused. "Yes, that's why. We can't be called Two Directions, after all. What if one of those directions was over an ocean? I'd be lost forever."

George beams that he made Louis laugh, and sort of launches himself across to seat to bury his face in Louis' tummy, arms tight around Louis' waist.

"Oh, yes," Louis murmurs, petting through George's hair. "That's a good boy, George."

George just wants to feel this way forever, cherished, and warm. Louis' fingers feel amazing in his hair, displacing all the carefully arranged curls that hadn't moved through the magic of hairspray.

Louis' hands are magic as they soothe through George's hair, scratching at his scalp, and they easily draw long, quiet, huffing moans out of George as Louis massages his back, pressing at the bruises Harry left all along George's sides and making him hiss.

"He's so cute when he's under," Harry says once he's parked, all the way up beside his house. "Isn't he? He's precious."

"He is," Louis compliments, and George preens a little. "I'm very glad we found him. Stroke of luck, that."

"I'm glad we took him home with us." Harry sets one large hand, warm and solid, on George's shoulder. He can't do anything more than that when he's in the front of the car and they're in back, but it's enough to make George happy.

Louis pats George's bum. "Do you want to go inside now?"

"Yes, please." George sort of wants to just stay here and press his face into the curve of Louis' stomach, but inside is where Harry can touch him, so he's willing to go there.

"Can you walk?" Harry asks gently. "I know sometimes I go all floppy in the legs when I'm under."

"I think so. It's better now." George nuzzles into Louis' belly one more time before he reluctantly pulls away. He leaves one hand on Louis' thigh, though.

Harry smiles and holds out his hand anyway, and George laces their fingers together so Harry can lead him into the house.

"I'm leaking," Louis jokes as he crowds in behind them, squeezing the back of George's neck. "I like it."

George's spine tingles at that like he's been struck by lightning, and he looks up at Harry with huge eyes. "Will you come in me, too? So I can -- I want to know."

Harry's return gaze is heated and intense. "Of course, if you want me to," he says in a voice that seems rougher than it had been only a moment before. "It's one of the reasons we wanted to get you tested."

George's face feels hot and he scrubs at his cheek. "I did. Thanks."

"We know, because you're good for us, aren't you?" Louis sets his chin on George's shoulder as his arms wrap around George from behind. "You did exactly what we wanted you to."

George beams as Harry unlocks the door and Louis shepherds him inside. Harry is different, tonight, than he was the night before: he's taller and seems even broader, stronger, in the shoulders. George wants to do everything for him, and he thinks that maybe that's the difference; last night, Harry was quietly submissive for Louis' huge personality, but tonight... George gets to be under Harry's control, and under Harry, and he's buzzing.

"Did you need anything before we go again?" Louis asks George, giving his belly an absent rub. "Water? Toast, tea, food, shower?"

George shakes his head. "No, I'm okay. Thank you," he adds. A shower sounds nice, actually, but if he's just going to get all dirtied up again, there's not really a point.

"If you're sure," Louis says, his eyebrows raising in a last question. George just repeats his head-shake, and Louis seems to accept that.

"In that case," Harry murmurs lowly, almost growling, and then he's on George, pulling up the front of George's t-shirt so he can examine the bruises that he made in the morning and latching his mouth onto one just above George's nipple, sucking it darker.

George moans, his hands flying to the back of Harry's head to hold him there, his head tipping back against Louis' shoulder. The little bit of ache from the bruise becomes something else with Harry's lips and tongue on it.

"That's it, George, it's time for Harry to take care of you now," Louis murmurs, and George's eyes open, because he _likes_ having Louis there behind him, taking care of him, but he's right. Harry's been so patient, it's his turn now.

"Do you want to fuck me now?" George asks, his fingers stroking through the curls at the nape of Harry's neck to the top knob of his spine. Harry's really very boney, and angular, and limbs. He's filled out more than George but he's still all elbows and knees.

Harry doesn't ask whether George is sure, the way Louis would. Because Harry knows. Harry knows what it's like to have his head full of clouds and bright and _need_ , so he just nods.

"Yeah, George," Harry murmus against George's belly, where it's got a single stained smear of Louis' come on it. "I'm gonna fuck you, and I'm gonna come in you and fill you up like you wanted."

George shudders with need. Even the thought is enough to get his cock stirring again, and he nods frantically.

"Please," he says, petting through Harry's hair and pinching his own thigh with his other hand. "Please, Harry?"

"Yeah, love, I've got you," Harry promises, and it fills George with helium, lifting like a balloon and he's a bit gone again, like he's watching Harry and his own body from somewhere not too far away.

"That's right," murmurs Harry, looking into his eyes. He must be searching for something, because after a moment he nods in satisfaction and pulls George along through a doorway into a room with a television and a sofa and at least three armchairs. George vaguely recognizes it from his previous trips through the house, but unlike then, it seems they aren't going farther, to Harry- and Louis' bedroom.

"I want to fuck you here," Harry says, his eyes bright and eager. "Right here."

George nods and starts stripping off his shirt. "Okay. Yes."

The shirt gets tangled over his head and Harry helps him get it the rest of the way off, then kisses George's temple. "Get your trousers off," he whispers, before his gaze moves to Louis. "I need lube."

Louis smiles and kisses the side of Harry's head, rising up on his tiptoes to reach, and George is enchanted. "On it."

Louis pads off, and George starts fumbling with his trousers, somehow all tangled up even though there are no buttons to unbutton or laces to untie.

"Shh, I've got you," Harry soothes, his fingers curling in the waist of George's trousers and helping him tug them down. He taps one of George's knees lightly. "Lift up your foot, please."

George lifts his foot, and Harry kisses the inside of George's knee.

"Foot down," Harry murmurs after he's slid the trouser leg away. They repeat on the other leg, and then George is naked and Harry is fully clothed, standing in the middle of Harry's modern art living room.

"I want you bent over." Harry wraps an arm around George's waist to pull him close enough to kiss, though neither of them does. "Right here over the arm of the sofa for me, so I can have a perfect view of your gorgeous arse. Will you do that for me, darling?"

George swallows and blinks. "Yeah. Okay." He pauses. "Please don't hit me?"

"Of course not." Harry nuzzles George's jaw, humming softly. "Never, not ever, I won't ever do that to you."

George relaxes again, letting Harry kiss his face and neck and the line of bruises like so many knots on a rope across his shoulder. He goes pliant and trusts that Harry means what he says, that he isn't going to hit him, not to be "funny" like some people do and not -- not because George looks back over his shoulder at him when he doesn't want, like some others. Until Harry and Louis, George had almost never done it in a bed.

"Not ever," Harry repeats, in a mumble against George's neck. "I just want to look at you. You're so lovely, and I want to look at you."

George bites his lips together between his teeth and nods. Harry kisses the corner of George's eye, and that makes George melt a little, pawing at Harry's shirt.

"Can you bend over pretty for me?" Harry's mouth makes words look better than they ever could if anybody else said them, all pink, plump lips. "Over the arm of the sofa?"

George nods and lets Harry lead him over; it's sort of a shitty sofa, if he's honest, compared to the rest of Harry's house and the enormous grandeur of the giant bed that lives in Harry- and Louis' bedroom (because even though Harry said Louis didn't really live here, it's _their_ room, and George knows they know). It's the right height to be bent over, though, and there's a cushion on the arm that makes it soft enough. 

Louis probably spends a fair amount of time here, George thinks, folding himself over the arm.

Harry groans, low and long in his throat. George hopes that means he looks good like this, because he feels a little ridiculous.

"Oh, wow," says Louis, the sound of his voice moving from the corner of the room toward them as he enters the doorway. "He does look nice, doesn't he? Begging to be fucked."

There's a minute of quiet, and nobody is touching him, and George starts to feel a little --

"Yellow?" he whispers, and chances looking over his shoulder.

Harry has his hands cupped around Louis' ear, whispering so George can't hear, and they both look rather serious, but as soon as he's spoken, they come over to him and Harry's hands are so gentle as he splays them on George's back.

"Louis," Harry says lightly, "Why don't you sit up there by George's head so he can hold onto you if he wants?"

"Would that help?" Louis asks George, kneeling down to pet at George's hair again.

"Yes, please." George swallows. He doesn't like it when he can't see anybody, and they're just looming behind him. It makes him feel -- bad. Bad-fuzzy, and he doesn't want that.

"Then I'll stay right up here by you," Louis responds, giving George a smile. "I'm glad you told us when your color changed, that was very good of you. I'm proud of you."

George blushes anyway, a little ashamed, and smudges his face on the sofa just so he doesn't have to look at Louis' concerned face. 

"Don't like feeling like -- an object?" he asks. "I think I like attention too much."

"Well, Harry certainly understands that, don't you?" Louis grins up at Harry, never stopping the motion of his fingers in George's hair. "He hates it when I pay attention to anything but him. Like a jealous puppy."

George's spine stiffens at that and then Harry is kissing the back of his neck softly, a warm spot that floods George with feeling... better.

"Except you," Harry amends. "I really liked watching you and Louis in the car. Is that okay with you?"

"Yes." George has to take a moment to regroup, staying silent until he feels like he can talk again. "I liked it. Knowing you could see."

Harry kisses George's back again, another knob lower on his spine. "You're both pretty fucking gorgeous. And you're so good, George, you did just what Louis told you. Really, really good."

"Good boy?" George says, pressing his forehead against the soft cushion of the sofa.

Harry's mouth drags lower over George's back. "Really good." He rubs his hands over George's sides and skates around the bruises gently. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Much better," George says as he folds his arms to rest his head on them. "Thank you." He doesn't know what he's saying thank you for. Probably everything.

Louis settles himself cross-legged like Peter Pan on the sofa beside George's head and rubs his fingers through George's hair. "You hold onto my hands or my leg or whatever you need, okay?" he asks gently.

"Okay." George nudges his nose against Louis' ankle and holds up his hands. "Please?" he says sheepishly.

Louis laces his fingers together with George's and dusts kisses over George's knuckles, and George feels better. 

He does trust them. It's just hard to unlearn so much all at once.

Harry's fingers, when he touches them to George's arse, are slick already. George supposes he must have done that while George was distracted, but it doesn't really matter. He does his best to relax as Harry slowly, very slowly, works one finger into him.

Harry kisses the back of George's hip. "Good, George. Really good."

It's easier for George to relax when Harry is telling him how good he feels, and how tight, and _can you spread your legs just a little more?_ when he starts to rock another finger inside along with the first.

Louis runs his thumb across the tops of George's knuckles. "Feel good?" When George gives him a little nod, Louis' voice turns low and dirty. "I love it when he's fingering me. He has such nice hands, don't you think?"

"Uh-huh," George chokes out. Harry's fingers are glorious. They feel much longer when they're inside him, like they can feel right up into his insides. He thinks he could probably come with just Harry's fingers inside him, but he's glad now isn't the time to test that.

"Sometimes I do," Louis whispers, and George realizes that he's been talking aloud again without realizing and he _really_ needs to get a handle on that. He's at the edge of that -- space, again, but isn't back there yet, too aware of the scratch of denim from Harry's jeans against the backs of his legs and the soft cloth of Louis' trackies under his cheek; too exposed to feel totally out of himself yet.

"Is it nice?" George hums. He can't imagine it being anything but nice. Even with just two fingers, Harry's twisting them and stretching him and George feels pretty well fucked already without Harry's cock inside him at all.

Louis nods and smooths his free hand over George's shoulders again. "Yeah, but if I'm honest I just love getting fucked in general. I think your fingers would be really, really good, too, love. Another time, though, because I'm still all messy from you before."

That makes George flush, and he sighs, happy, pushing his face into the side of Louis' thigh because he can't find words.

"I can still feel it," Louis tells him, his voice lilting a little. "You, inside me. I do love that feeling, even if it gets my trousers all dirty on the bum. There's nothing like the feeling of someone else's spunk inside you, Georgie."

George has to whimper a little at that and pushes back against Harry's fingers. He wants it. He wants that, so much; it's what he's wanted for a week already and it's so close he can almost taste it.

Harry's three fingers deep now and not being coy about it anymore, fucking his fingers into George and then out in slow drags. George doesn't know how many he's planning on getting inside him before he'll replace them with his cock, but he's ready for it now, he thinks.

George sucks in a fast, cold breath as Harry tucks a careful fourth finger into him, bunched close together as he waits for George's body to relax around them. He hadn't thought four fingers would make him feel that much fuller than three had, but he was wrong. He's never needed four fingers before, but Harry's massive and George is grateful, actually, that he's making sure George doesn't get hurt like the first time.

Louis squeezes George's fingers. "Did you want me to hold you down again?"

" _Please_." George doesn't mean for that to come out as desperately as it did, but he loves being held down, and he loves Harry's fingers, and everything is just so good and about to get better.

"You won't feel too trapped?" Louis asks, touching the side of George's face that he can see.

George shakes his head as best he can. "Not anymore, thank you." He sobs a low moan as Harry's fingers begin to spread, curling to hit all of the best places inside him. "Green, yes, that's -- _oh_."

"You're going to look so good with him inside you," Louis whispers, his fingers sliding up George's forearms to grip him tightly. "Are you ready for it yet? Ready for Harry to fuck you? It's going to feel so big but I know you can take it."

George nods, whimpering; Louis shushes him softly so George bites at Louis' thigh instead. 

The only sound then is the drag of Harry's zipper lowering and the slight hush of his trousers rolling down to his knees.

"He's so hard because of you," says Louis, his thumbs stroking over the insides of George's elbows. "He's going to feel so good, babe. He wants to impress you now."

George nods and shifts, lifting his arse just a little, spreading his legs that bit wider, rocking back on his heels to invite Harry in. He hears Harry curse and then a hand firmly curling around his hip to keep George steady.

Harry's not wearing a condom, George remembers with a spark of heat in his stomach as Harry's cockhead presses at his hole. He's bare as he slowly pushes into George.

It's different. It's more different than George would have guessed, and it rips a lowing groan from his throat as Harry eases his way in slowly, the fat ridge of his head catching twice before Harry moves George's hips how he needs them. The new position makes the muscles all long the backs of George's legs stretch -- Harry is tall _and_ big -- and all of him is taut, waiting to be filled.

"Jesus," he thinks he hears Louis say, but it's not easy to hear as his own sounds fill the air. George has to rise onto his tiptoes for a moment to relieve the strain on his hamstrings, pushing his face needily against Louis's thigh.

"Yeah, good," Harry grunts lowly, and then his huge hands are holding George's hips there so he's raised on tiptoe, just trying to balance, as Harry pushes his massive cock into him without anything to guide the rest of the way, a slow, slick, steady slide in to the hilt.

George floats. It's not the same as earlier, with Louis, where he slowly faded into his fuzzy-place; now he just snaps into it and relaxes, mouthing absently at Louis' thigh and letting his eyes half-close as he enjoys the feeling of being so completely full.

There isn't anything he can do, anyway -- his weight is balanced entirely in Harry's hands, his cock is trapped between the flat of his belly and the softly worn cushion over the arm of the sofa, and his hands are knotted up tight in Louis' t-shirt, just trying to hang on.

Harry doesn't let up at all, his pace quick and unrelenting. He's so long and thick and hot inside of George and George doesn't want to think about anything but that, so he doesn't, balancing on his toes and letting Harry fuck into him as his thrusts let George rub off a little against the couch. The friction isn't enough to get him off, but it's better than nothing.

George rests his face against Louis' knee, gasping breaths when he can, moaning low and rolling under his breath, just trying to take it all in, the _ease_ of it and the drag, the extraordinary _completeness_ of it all. The only things that exist in the world are Harry's cock driving into him and the ache in his calves and the dark, sweet pressure of Louis holding his arms down at the wrists, keeping him tethered by holding him tightly.

It might be the best he's ever felt, but George has felt like that a lot in the past day or so. Still, this must be awfully close, this lightheaded nearly out-of-body experience. It's like he's made to receive Harry's cock and he was made for Louis to hold down, made to be theirs in this moment.

"You sound so sweet," Louis whispers to him, his voice awed and, George might be imagining, proud. "Making such pretty sounds, George."

George moans a little louder at that, because Louis saying nice words makes him _physically feel good_ , and he hadn't even know that was possible.

"You like it so much." Louis squeezes his wrists. "Tell Harry how much you like his cock in you."

It takes George a minute to find his mouth, to put the words together. It's a little like trying to catch snowflakes on his tongue or hold onto water between his fingers.

"Makes me happy?" He offers finally, and points the toes of one foot just to give his muscles a little break, but Harry murmurs softly that it's _pretty, George_ so he keeps it a moment. "Love it, from you. Hurts, but nice."

"Hurts in a good way?" Louis asks him. He has George's wrists in one hand, gripping tightly, as the other flutters from his temple to his neck. "You like how big he is?"

George nods, whimpering, and tries to rub his cock up against the arm of the sofa just to get some pressure on it where he wants. He knows he's leaking everywhere and will leave a stain on the fabric when he comes, but he doesn't care. He just wants to.

"I think Harry deserves to come inside you, after he had to wait so long, and watch us in the car," Louis says firmly. "Don't you think Harry deserves that?"

" _Please_ , please," George begs, and pushes back into Harry, working counterpoint to his thrusts. "Please, please, please, want it so badly..."

Harry lets out a low keening sound, his dull fingernails digging into George's hip as he slams home one more time and empties into him.

He doesn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't, somehow, something as -- intimate as what he gets. He can feel the pulse of it, the heat, the wet. Beyond that there's a little, huge, glowing, dark bright thought that edges into his floaty, empty space that whispers loudly _Harry's inside you, he's filled you up, you're going to have him in you all day_ , and George doesn't really know what's happening beyond that knowledge.

"Give me your color, George," Louis says close to his ear, coaxing and calm. "There's a good boy."

George thinks hard, trying to remember. Colors. What are colors?

"Blue?" he guesses, and Louis chuckles softly in his ear, giving it a little kiss. 

"Well, that's a start. _Your_ color, though, George, do you remember?"

Colors. Why is Louis asking him about colors? He can't remember -- colors? Redyellowgreen? Green means good.

"Green," he says, because he's positive now that he's never felt this good in his life.

"Good." That's Harry's voice, this time, and it makes George writhe a little in pleasure because he _really_ likes Harry. "Really good, George. You're so good, you're _so_ good. Do you want to come, George?"

"Yes, please, can I?" George just wants to be good for them, and if they want him to come, then he wants to. "If you want. I will if you want."

"Do _you_ want to?" Harry asks. It's a bit of a silly question; why _wouldn't_ George want to come?

"Please?" George says, bouncing on his toes to get a bit more friction against the sofa. "Please let me?"

"Shhh, you're alright," Louis soothes, petting George's hair. "Turn over."

George doesn't think he can move, but Harry's hands are on his hips and helping him to turn first onto his side and then his back, his head in Louis's lap and his legs now draped over the arm of the sofa. He can feel the sticky spot he's made on the backs of his knees.

"Spread your knees for me, love," Harry requests softly, his hands running over the insides of George's thighs. His cheeks are red and flushed and he looks younger in his post-orgasm mien, and his hands tremble just a little as he strokes over George's overheated skin.

George smiles at Harry, his brown eyes huge and wide and wet, as he opens his thighs so Harry can fit between them again. He likes Harry. He likes Harry a lot.

"I like you a lot, too, George," Harry murmurs, and then he's tucking two fingers into George again, slick-sloppy with come. 

George's head drops back and his hips push up subconsciously, riding against Harry's fingers. He's so sensitive and tender and wet there now and it's just the right side of too much.

He's mumbling sounds that might be starting out as words, but aren't finishing as them -- he's not sure what they'd be if they did.

And then Louis tightens his grip on George's arms, holding him down flat. And Harry bends down to mouth shallowly at the head of George's cock.

The force of George's orgasm nearly punches him in the stomach with the strength of it, and he can't breathe but that's amazing and fantastic because he's here and he's with Harry and Louis and he's coming and has anything ever been as good as right now is?

After an eternity, George slowly becomes aware that there's gentle pressure on the corner of his mouth.

He's being kissed, he thinks, and turns his head into it. Louis still smells like Louis, even if he also smells like sweat and sex. It makes George smile as he drifts, sated and basking in it.

He comes back to himself in bits and pieces: first the fresh sting of a long scratch across his belly where he'd clawed himself with his nails as he came. A good-bad hurt, but he can only blame himself. Then the soft warmth of the drizzle of kisses Harry gifts over it, murmuring apologies that he doesn't need to give.

"Back with us, babe?" Louis says in his ear, his fingers now soothing the bruises he's added to Harry's on George's arms. "We lost you in there for a second."

"Yeah," George says, and coughs. He sounds a little tinny in his own ears, but he can tell he's on his way to normal. "That was really -- that was good. Yeah."

"Would you like one of us to get you some water?" Louis offers, palms stroking their way up George's arms. "Or do you want to wait a little while?"

It takes a minute for George to think it through, like taking inventory of himself. "Wait, please."

"Of course." Louis kisses beside George's eye. "We can stay here or we can cuddle in bed, or have a shower. Whatever you want."

George thinks, his brow creasing, then shakes his head. "You choose. I'm -- " He waves a hand lazily.

"Cute?" Louis guesses, smiling at George and rubbing his chest. "I'd say we can just stay here, but the longer you stay still the more your legs are going to hurt when you get up." He shrugs a shoulder. "Sort of speaking from experience on that one."

George tries wiggling his toes as he's reminded that he has them. "Okay."

Harry and Louis help him sit up.

"Ohh," George groans as his thigh muscles confirm what Louis' just said. "No, no moving."

"Come on, you'll feel better in bed," Louis coaxes, helping George get to his feet and letting him lean heavily against Louis' shoulder. "Remember how comfy Harry's bed is?"

George shakes his head, then nods. "Yes. Can I -- oh!"

Louis was right again -- the feeling of come leaking out of him, slick on the back of his thigh.

For a moment, Louis looks concerned. Then he looks down and a smile flashes onto his face.

"Brilliant, isn't it?" he says, his fingers brushing against George's waist. "Weird, but brilliant."

George isn't 100% sure that he'd call it brilliant, but he also isn't entirely sure of anything at the moment. He moves, and the press of the bruises Harry sucked into his thighs combined with the soft, sticky insistence of the come leaking out of him feels... filthy. Good filthy or bad, he isn't totally decided, but he feels filthy and he feels owned.

And feeling owned is exactly what he wanted.

"Thank you," he says softly. He thinks he finally understands why Harry kept thanking Louis last night, even when George thought he didn't really warrant gratitude.

Harry splays his hand out over the small of George's back and caresses over with his thumb. He bends down and kisses George's mouth once, lightly, tenderly, and it does help George's head to clear a bit.

"You're very welcome, George," Louis says in reply. He has something like that fond look on his face that he gets sometimes when he looks at Harry, only he's looking at George. "Whenever you need it, okay?"

"Mmm," George hums. His eyes perk up and he grins. "Every day?"

"Maybe not every day; I'm not a teenager anymore." Louis wrinkles his nose. "I'm surrounded by sexed-up teenagers."

Harry laughs. "That says more about you than about us."

"Only that I have impeccable taste," says Louis airily. "I only fuck the best."

"I thought you only fucked weirdoes," George asks, and his head clears a little more. He only feels... refreshed now, but sleepy. And still filthy, and a little hungry. And ecstatic to be in the show for another week. He shakes his head a little to test it, like there's water in his ears.

Louis waves a hand. "It's the same thing, really. Normal teenagers are boring. I like them curly and with noodle-arms."

George blushes, while Harry _hey, I've been working on it!_ s, and George realizes they've chivvied him right up to the enormous bathroom and run the tub full of hot water.

"Erm," George pipes, a little sheepishly, "After the bath -- is there, erm, could I have food? Only I haven't eaten all day, except with Ella in the morning and her pastries are gross."

George rolls his eyes and lets Harry help him into the bath, wincing a little as the hot water laps at the fresh wounds of the scratches on his back and belly and the pink soreness of being stretched wide enough to take Harry that hard.

"D'you want me to join you?" Harry asks, kneeling at the side of the tub so he can wash George's hair. "Or I could cook? I like cooking. Maybe a spag bol?"

"I like spag bol," George muses. "I don't want you to go through too much trouble, though."

Harry gives him a pointed look. "You've just let me fuck you so hard that you can barely stand. I think we can call us even after this." He gestures for Louis to take over for him and unfolds himself onto his feet.

Louis touches Harry's shoulder and stops him for a kiss before Harry can get too far. They smile as their mouths meet, faces relaxed and comfortable with each other, affectionate and fond and fitting. 

George smiles too, watching them quietly, not wanting to disrupt their moment. 

"Make some for yourself," Louis instructs, rubbing Harry's side. "Don't think I don't know how you are."

Harry's eyes are soft and warm as he nods at Louis and leans down for another little kiss. 

"Did you want some?" he asks. "Carb up for tomorrow's game?"

Louis suddenly looks a bit ill, but Harry nuzzles at Louis' nose. 

"None of that," Harry murmurs. "No nerves. You're gonna be brilliant."

"Easy for you to say; you're always brilliant." Louis does smile, though, and he gives Harry a nod. "Yeah, some for me, too. If I'm ill afterwards, don't take it personally."

"I never do," Harry sighs, and throws George a wink. George giggles, then presses his lips together and quickly dunks under the water. 

He doesn't hear anything else that they say, though the muffled burbles he can hear mean he knows they say _something_ , and when he resurfaces, it's just Louis in the room with him.

"He really is a good cook," Louis tells him, taking Harry's former position beside the tub to rinse the last of the grit from George's hair. "I know loads of people say they are, but I'd have starved to death ages ago if it weren't for him."

George smiles. "I know, I watched a video. You didn't know what a whisk was."

"Do you often watch the videos of us on the internet?" Louis asks curiously, squirting a dollop of shampoo into his hand. "Or only since we've started all this?"

George goes pink. "Mostly since -- I mean, I'm in a boy band on X Factor, so it's... research. But I'm fucking you, so it's... research."

"Ah." Louis solemnly nods, but it's obvious his lips are twitching. "Right, of course, research. Bit unfair, as I can't research you in return."

George shrugs, and Louis uses the opportunity to gently urge George's arm up so Louis can wash it, rubbing out the kinks in the ticklish, soft muscle on its underside. 

"There's not so much to tell with me," he says. "I'm George Shelley. I used to work in a coffee shop. I play guitar. That's it, really."

"That's not you, that's your X Factor audition." Louis moves to washing down George's ribs. "Which I have seen. You were very cute."

George beams a little at that and hums as Louis washes his back, hands gentle as they move over all of Harry's bruises.

"I think Harry likes leaving these on you as much as you like getting them," he murmurs, his fingertips moving carefully over one of them. "He's like a, what's something that bites? A biting thing."

"He can't be a mosquito," George says. "Jaymi says I'm a cuddlemosquito. So Harry can't be one."

"Maybe a gnat, then," Louis mumbles, giving George a speculative look. "You get on well with Jaymi, then?"

George nods. "Yeah, I do. I think he's -- like me. And sometimes Harry. He knew before I did about the, the. Stuff."

Louis snorts. "You can say the words, you know. Submissive. BDSM. You can just call it 'kink' if you're that skittish?"

"It's just weird," George mumbles, going red again. "I don't like feeling like I'm... not normal."

"Nothing wrong with not being normal." Louis pats George's wet hand. "Don't think of it as being not normal; think of it as being just, a little different. Everyone's a bit different from everyone else, right?"

George nods, but -- it's different for him, he thinks. Louis was never the freak chased out of schools, after all. But if Louis says it's almost normal, and Jaymi, too, then he'll try to believe them.

"I'm guessing you've never had to clean spunk out of yourself before?" Louis asks, scrubbing more soap down George's stomach. "It's not hard, or anything, you've just got to put your fingers back inside when you're really sensitive."

George pulls a face. "Will I get like, poisoned if I just leave it there, then? I don't know I can take much more -- business down there, right now."

This isn't helping him feel like he's any more 'normal,' either, but maybe there's no delicate way to say it.

And maybe Louis Tomlinson doesn't go for delicate even if there is.

"You won't get poisoned, as far as I know, you just might get leakage later on." Louis shrugs. "And after a while, sometimes it can get sort of itchy. Far be it for me to tell you what to do with your own arse, though."

George looks at Louis from beneath his eyelashes, smirking. "Isn't that the whole point?"

"Oh, I do like you." Louis leans over and gives him a kiss. "Ready for food? It should probably be nearly done by the time we get there. Or maybe cold by the time I find Harry's kitchen in this massive house."

George blinks at Louis, surveying him as he pulls the plug on the bath and it begins to drain. The pipes wail and clank inside the walls, and Louis winks.

"Ghosts," he explains, pointing to the wall. "Harry did warn you."

"I'm not going to get attacked in my sleep, am I?" George stands shakily, his legs barely supporting him. "Really did a number on me." He's smiling.

Louis slips an arm around George's waist to help him out of the tub. "Yeah, I'm feeling it, too. Probably not so smart for me, seeing as I have to go make a right fool of myself captaining a football team for ten-thousand people tomorrow afternoon." He goes a little green, then blows out a breath, shaking his head. "Nope. Not going to do it. Break my leg for me?"

"Erm, red," George says, frowning, as Louis wraps him up in a fluffy towel.

Louis sighs. "Sorry. I'm really nervous, you probably couldn't tell as I'm faking confidence so well," he jokes, running his fingers across his fringe. "Do you want pyjamas or do you mind eating naked?"

"I brought my monkey suit," George says, "In my bag. I'll wear that if you don't mind."

"That sounds perfect." Louis grins at him. "I've been wondering what it's like in person. Maybe I can find my onesie; I've got one somewhere. Feels like I haven't worn it in ages, though..." His grin turns wicked. "I have to find it. Come with me; Harry can wait on it, and I want to see his reaction."

"Can I ask you something?" George says curiously as he finishes trying himself, ruffling his hair with the towel. "You can, you know, not tell me if you don't want to."

"Shoot," Louis says, kneeling to rub down George's legs, momentarily distracting George because he really _is_ sore, and Louis' hands feel good.

"Why do you even have a house of your own if you basically live here?" The sentence makes its way out of George's mouth slowly and then all at once, as he wants to just get it out of the way in case Louis doesn't take it well.

Louis keeps massaging one of George's hamstrings, looking down, and George regrets asking.

"A lot of reasons, really," Louis says finally. "Real estate, for one. Being a popstar is not recession-proof, or something. It'll help with savings, and I'm horrible with money. For another, you know, fans find houses or paparazzi follow, and it's just easier if I have a place to go that's mine. And, really, it's nice to have one Harry-free place in my life? Sometimes? We work together. We play together. We sleep together. He feeds me." Louis smirks, then shakes his head. "Sometimes I just need to get away from curly hair."

"I didn't mean to upset you." George swallows hard, and decides, yes, upsetting Louis is actually his least favorite thing to do. "Sorry for asking."

"Hey." Louis kisses George's knee, then nuzzles at George's soft, oversensitive dick just to make him shriek and squirm away. "I'm not upset at all. You didn't upset me. I promise."

"You made that face," George says hesitantly, clinging to the bar holding Harry's hand towels to keep himself upright. "I've only ever seen you make it when you're upset."

"I think that's just my face, mate." Louis stands and stretches, and George can't help reaching out to touch his tan skin. He realizes now, a little sadly, that he's been the only one to get naked all night.

"You don't have to wear clothes to eat," he suggests, stroking his thumb over the skin of Louis' hip. "If you don't want to. I mean."

Louis grins and his eyes crinkle at the corners. He nips George's cheek with his thumb and first knuckle. "Aren't you cute? No, you've got me in a onepiece mood."

"You don't have to wear anything under it, though," says George. He kisses Louis' wrist. "We can be secretly cheeky."

Louis smiles and nods at George, his eyes soft and familiar. "Okay." He pauses. "They'll get all... _spunky_ , though."

"They're washable," George mumbles. "Right? They're washable, aren't they? Oh, God, I've not been washing any of my own clothing, I have no idea. I'm turning into a popstar or something. Somebody else washes all my clothes and I don't even question it when they're clean." His nose wrinkles. "Are none of my clothes clean?"

Louis laughs and starts to lead George out of the bathroom. "Come on. Let's get bundled up."

When Harry sees George and Louis strolling into the kitchen in their onesies, he nearly doubles over at the oven. He's nearly through laughing when Louis cheerfully exclaims, "I can't believe I still fit in this!" and he lapses into more howls.

George feels cozy and comfy and wonderful in his monkey suit, as he always does. His arse still throbs a little but it's a nice reminder when he sits down of how lovely this day's been.

Lovely and exhausting, he has to add, when halfway through eating he nearly faceplants into his bowl. Harry is politely attempting to muffle his laughter but Louis' smirk is plain on his face.

"Sorry," George apologizes. "It's really good, I promise. I'm just tired." He punctuates this with an extraordinarily well placed yawn.

Harry covers his face with both hands. "You're so cute that I feel disgusting right now. At least take the hood off?"

"Then I won't be able to hear you," George yawns, patting his hood. "These are my monkey ears."

"Shut up, shut up," Harry grumbles, sinking lower in his seat. "You're older than me. I can't believe you're older than me. I can't believe I'm younger than someone with a monkey Onepiece. I can't believe I've had _sex_ with someone who is now wearing a monkey Onepiece."

George is too sleepy and sated to care much. "Louis said it was cute." He yawns again and it squeaks at the top.

"I'm going to develop a complex." Harry shovels his last spoonful in his mouth as Louis lapses into snickers.

"Come on, love, give us your leftovers, you can have them for brekkie in the morning." Louis slides George's bowl out from his place carefully and stands to put it into a container for the refrigerator.

"Oh, don't treat him like he's _actually_ our time-traveling magical arse-baby son!" Harry groans. "I hate you both so much right now. Get out of my house."

Louis' shoulders are shaking when George looks over at him.

"Came here in your car, sugarlips, so it looks like we're staying," he says over his shoulder. He settles their now empty bowls into the sink and runs some water into them, nodding in satisfaction once they're filled. "Alright. To bed with us all, I think. We've all got early mornings, haven't we?"

George nods and scrubs at his eyes, taking three tries to stand before Harry comes over and helps him up, apologizing softly.

Harry sighs and pecks him on the lips. "I suppose you're my favorite time-traveling magical arse-baby son," he says grudgingly. "I really hope I haven't got any others. Please say you're the only one."

George shrugs. "Don't know. Didn't know I was until like a month ago. Am I your River Song?"

"I call being Karen Gillan!" Louis chirps. "I have better legs than you, Hazza!"

"I knew you were paying attention during my marathons!" Harry exclaims, his eyes bright and happy. George is too tired to be charmed by their bizarre flirting, and he says as much before Louis has an opportunity to say anything back.

"Our flirting is normal, not bizarre," Louis says, waggling a finger at George, who just yawns in response. Then Louis smiles a little and comes over to help Harry get George up the stairs to bed. "Being happy is a good trade-off for being 'normal,' George. When you find the things that make you happy... you keep them."

"You two make me happy," George mutters, his feet dragging on nearly every step. "Does that mean I get to keep you?"

Harry kisses the side of George's nose. 

"We'll see," says Louis softly, and his touch is gentle as he presses his fingertips to George's back. "Into bed, now, okay? I demand cuddles before my game. Cuddles for luck."

George smiles as best he can with his eyes already shut. "Green for cuddles."

He hears Louis tell Harry to get the light, and then the room beyond his closed eyelids seems much darker than it was. Louis must have shucked his onepiece before climbing into bed, because George has only expanses of skin on both sides where Harry and Louis are cuddling him. One of them – he thinks Harry – kisses his slack lips gently before settling down with a head on his shoulder.

Before he drops off, George reminds himself to tell Ella that he was definitely right to be excited over not having to use condoms, in the end. He thinks a _told you so_ might even be in order, and some details that she would be scarred by if she looked them up on the internet to prove a point. And then after she throws something at him, he'll buy her another chocolate whatever. Or three. Or they could trick-or-treat for them.

It’s another week.

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


End file.
